The Artifice
by jointheconga
Summary: Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive the tournament that he can take lightly no more. But who can he trust? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse?... Or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry?...
1. Parts 1, 2, and 3

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary: **Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can _really_ help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY—

THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

Cedric was fairly certain that a "REAL Hogwarts Champion" would not be mulling forlornly over a table stacked head-high with books in the middle of said school's library at seven in the morning on a Monday. Tuesday was the day that unerringly (and hopelessly, in Cedric's case) followed Monday. In XX cultures, as Cedric knew quite well, Monday was the twenty-four hour time span that acted as the prelude to the ever-dreaded (in Cedric's case—again) twenty-four hours in which the world and its inhabitants lived harmoniously (or not) in the day called _Tuesday_. And this Tuesday in particular loomed like the entire world was preparing to take the mickey out of poor Cedric.

He'd spent the last… he didn't even _remember_ how long... on preparing (sort of) for a challenge that he knew _nothing about_.

_This contest is supposed to be __**difficult**__, not __**impossible**__!_

A sigh. A scoff. A whimper. Cedric Diggory and the shelves of leather bindings surrounding him were quite familiarized with these sounds.

He was desperate. And hopeless. In a bad, _bad_ way.

"I reckon you're just brushing up on your spells, then, Mr. Diggory?"

Cedric was struck out of his counterproductive attentions on self-pity. With cheeks the color of a spring flower and beetles of the same season crawling around his gut, he lied (not convincingly, he thought) to his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

"Uh, yes sir! Just, uh, perfecting the magic." He smiled and cleared his throat, though, in reality, he really only wanted to choke himself. _Perfecting the magic? He sounded like a complete dunder-head!_ Cedric tried not to let his eyes widen in realization. _He sounded like he was trying to come on to him. Oh, bloody-hell—_

"Perfecting, eh Diggory?" Professor Moody leaned with subtle intent over the cluttered desk between them, one of his hands lying heavily on a tower of transfiguration encyclopedias and charm guides and, and… He really had raided the library, hadn't he?

Once again, Cedric's wandering concentration (an oxy-moron, no?) was stirred up, and his mind, now sluggish from the monotonous hours of studying both in the early morning and in the dwindling hours of the night before, was wrenched back to focus on Moody's words. Of advice, perhaps?...

"Well then, I wish you luck in your endeavors that you seem to have flawlessly planned. It is very good to see a Hogwarts Champion so prepared for his task, especially one from Hufflepuff…"

Cedric's eyes tightened, but his head nodded and his lips curled despite himself. His fleeting intention to come forward with his… _exaggeration_… was cinched by the liquid indignation that clenched in his throat and threatened to spew out of his mouth, should he have opened it.

He didn't.

Moody's one real eye glinted in expectation. After a minute passed, his face contorted into a grimace (what was supposed to be a smile, Cedric thought loathingly), and a grunt squeezed past his chapped, ugly lips. He muttered, "Again, best of luck to you," and straightened, strengthening his grasp on the wooden staff beside him.

Cedric watched him begin to walk away when Moody unexpectedly stopped, peering minutely over his shoulder, magic eye-ball darting frantically (Cedric noted that it appeared to be attempting escape from his hideous face). The professor's words were low and frustratingly cryptic:

"It appears that you have all you need to guide you right in front of your nose, Mr. Diggory; don't be looking too far, or you'll never see it."

And he clunked away.

And Cedric looked dumbly at the overbearing stacks of books around him, noticing only after a few moments that something was different (a significance that he'd later wish he never knew of). Cedric reached for a small tome from the precipice of the tower that Moody had leaned upon, one he hadn't seen before (he didn't think—but then again, he was _very_ distracted). As he flipped the pages in his hands, Cedric sensed a nudging tingle in his fingertips—a tingle which he ignored. He used his fingertips instead to trace the indents of what may have once been a puncture that was now (not without flaw) resealed and touched up.

Now why would someone want to stab clear through a nearly blank-paged book?

He turned it so that he could examine the unembellished spine. The book's pages were water-damaged (he could barely read the name on the first page), the creases of the cover were bent and frayed (from _years_ of mistreatment, it looked), and the dark black leather appeared to be… _stained_… so much so that he couldn't make out what the year on the cover had been (what could _possibly_ stain black?).

Cedric mused that T. M. Riddle was certainly going to be displeased when he saw the condition of his perfectly empty diary.

Or perhaps T. Riddle was a girl?...

**- - - - -**

He was in a great deal of trouble. A _great_ deal of trouble.

"_Dragons?..._" Cedric breathed to himself, his whisper the only sound floating amidst the dusky air of the sixth-year boys' Hufflepuff dormitories. He was supposed to have gone to his Charms class after his run-in with Harry. Flitwick had dismissed him immediately upon seeing him, however. His barely concealed panic had flooded through him up to his eyeballs the moment that Moody and Potter had gone out of sight behind the corner. Letting himself have a minute, he'd bent down to pick up his things that he'd dropped _again_—"damn bag!"—and trudged off to class… where he had been sent back to his quarters to rest. And throw-up his insides in peace.

He'd go crazy if he was locked in this room much longer. Classes would've at least distracted him! This "resting" was really only him bringing himself into a panic. But how else could he deal with this situation?

"_Dragons!_" Cedric felt like hitting something. Or dying. Which he probably would. Tomorrow.

A very tortured voice. "Oh, _tomorrow_…" His fingers tugged at his hair, and Cedric sat with slumped shoulders on the edge of his bed. In his mind, he was already defeated. How could they possibly expect _students _to face off against _dragons? _He had absolutely _no idea _of how he could succeed.

Stuck in his dormitories, he sourly wondered where all the time had gone. Did he really accomplish nothing in all of the late nights and early mornings? Was every extra hour poured over books so meaningless in light of this new information? Had he really blown it all away so easily? And here, he thought he had been working. But the only times he could truly remember were the ones when he was smiling as fellow classmates congratulated him, when he was chuckling a bit at the badges but feeling ashamed to do so, when he was grinning as people stopped what they were doing just to take one glance at _him_, the _champion_… Had he really forgotten what it truly meant to _be_ the champion? Forgotten what his father had told him about the honor he would receive, not because of the title, but because of the bravery and the hard work and the intelligence that he showed? He wasn't a celebrity; he was a _boy, _still a boy, and this opportunity to prove that he could be a man… he had been wasting it. He had been embracing the wrong things all along. And now there was no time to remedy his mistakes. No time to learn what he needed to. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from getting his arse killed tomorrow, and it was all his and his overfilled ego's bloody fault!

Cedric had never felt so foolish. Never felt so scared.

Even defeated, he wouldn't give up just yet. In all actuality, there really wasn't an option but to go through with the whole mess and hope for the best. But now that he knew… he was going to try his best… not to win… but just to _survive_…

There were some minutes left before he could actually _do _something about it, though. He'd realized that he should at least wait for classes to be over before he left (he wouldn't be accused for faking illness and ditching). Then, he could go back to the library and start with his new approach of terror-filled determination. If he was honest with himself, though, he didn't want to set foot in that book-yard again for at least the next week.

Yet, in twenty minutes time, Cedric Diggory could be seen slouching into a chair, the same chair as in the morning and as in the day before and as in the day before that… He was _tired_ and _panicked_ and _utterly hopeless_. How did one approach a task with a dragon…?

He pulled out some texts that he had carried with him to add to the still towering stacks around him (it was quite nice of Pince to lend him a reserved table; normally she was a bit... tart). Charms. Defense. Transfiguration. Cedric sighed. _At least he had transfiguration. Something he was __**good**__ at._

Cedric stared at the little black diary he next pulled out of his bag (an old, used bag, now) and let it rest on the table in front of him. It was a curious thing, surely. Something that he knew he _shouldn't _trifle with right now (especially now, after his very recent revelation of his own stupidity) when he was _supposed _to be working on not dying—but he _really_ needed to sort out his thoughts before they drove him barmy. He needed to get it all out now so he could focus more certainly on his task.

So he wrote. On the first blank page of the little journal.

_Monday, 23 of November,1994_

Cedric looked back to his ink bottle, refilled his quill, and turned once again to the book.

…

Perhaps he really _was_ mad.

Because he _knew_ that he had just written the date upon the sheet of paper before him. But there were no markings on the paper. At all.

And so he wrote again.

_Monday, 23 of November, 1994_

And he watched, astonished, as the words were absorbed into the paper. He flipped the page. Blank, all the way through. He turned back to the very first page of the book, where the name "T. M. Riddle", though badly smudged, was still visible. Then, he flipped back to _his_ first page and wrote, once more, the date.

_Monday, 23 of November, 1994_

His astonishment only increased after the words disappeared again. His letters were gone. And in their place were someone else's.

_**We have established that the date is, in fact, Monday, 23 of November, 1994.**_

Cheeky book.

He was completely baffled.

_What is this?_ Cedric wrote.

It was a few moments before the book responded.

_**What you are writing in is the journal of T. M. Riddle. Who are you?**_

Did he have time for this? It didn't seem a clever thing to chat with a journal that talked back. He had no idea what kind of magic was placed on the book—no idea of the threats it could be hiding. But he was so curious… And this was definitely putting his mind at ease with the smart use of distraction…

_**Who are you?**_ Cedric knew that answering the diary truthfully could prove potentially dangerous. He tried to think of a name—quickly, mind you—and took a look about the library area. And there he saw Harry Potter's little bushy-haired girlfriend (really, he knew better after traveling with the two of them to the World Cup, but still, they were close). She was writing. He watched as her pale hand almost flew over the parchment, neatly scribbling in small lines of script that seemed to run out of her sleeve rather than from the inked tip of her quill. Cedric didn't know that it was possible to write so quickly.

He looked to the diary and wrote without thinking.

_My name is Hermione Granger. What is your name?_

That was a mistake. He may have avoided the storm, but—he looked over to the fourth-year, her hand still fluttering diligently over the scroll—where exactly did he push it to? In his mind, he sent a quiet apology over to her and hoped that this wouldn't leave him (or her) buggered in the long run.

He registered that the book was taking a considerable amount of time to reply.

_**Hmm… **_

Oh dear. His eyes flickered to the girl and then back down, where new words were already beginning to fade.

_** I find myself not believing you. You are not Hermione Granger.**_

Well. Good for her, bollocks for him. What now? Keep it talking.

_How is it you would know if I was lying about who I am?_

_**I know. It is that simple and does not require explanation for the likes of a liar and an intruder.**_

He scrambled for something to reply, his writing now spiky with stress. His rush left tiny blots of ink across the page.

_My name is Cedric Diggory, and I have no intentions to intrude upon… your privacy. I merely wished to talk because this diary is a curious thing. I would understand completely if you did not believe me or wish to speak to me after my misgivings, but I would like to chat and ask you for some advice._

How was that for charm? But now the diary knew his name… He was not _un_aware that this could bode quite badly for him.

As if he needed more problems.

_**…It is quite a bore, if I may say so, being confined to one's own memories, and for that reason alone we will keep up this correspondence. **_Cedric let out a sigh of relief._** I may choose when and if I answer any of your questions; my secrets are mine, and you have no rights to them, even if you think otherwise because of my diary being in your possession. I have rights to question you, however, and I would appreciate if you always answered my interrogative truthfully… Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom Riddle. And now, my first question… Why did you choose the name Hermione Granger?**_

_Truthfully_, he rather hoped that the book would have forgotten the name; he didn't want her mixed up in any business she didn't need to be. He already fumbled the situation enough for himself, anyway.

_She was the first person I saw after you asked. I thought it would be best, at first, not to give my true name to a diary that writes back… I apologize if you take offense._

Cedric held his breath.

_**It was a wise precaution, I admit, but I do not do my dealings with those who lie to me. It is an inconvenience, no?**_

Could a diary's words convey menace, Cedric pondered? He rather suspected they could. He wrote back: _The morality of lying is not what fazes you? _The only way he could think of to rectify the situation was to avoid it.

_**'Immorality' is the word I'm sure you were thinking of, but no. **_Cedric blinked and, after a moment, exhaled quietly. The diary went on. _**Who am I to decide what is morally correct for society? People lie for themselves, and selfishness, though frowned upon, shows love for one's being. Lying only irritates particularly when something that needs knowing is lost behind falsities. It is an inconvenience to have to dig it up and reveal its importance. Time and resource are lost, wasted on the inane that could have been avoided with truth.**_

Cedric thought a bit through his words and began to pen back his reply.

_An interesting theory, but morality must come into play somewhere. Do you not find yourself disgusted based on the actions of people because they conflict with your own beliefs? _There was a brief pause in his writing as he mulled over the intelligence of inquiring what he knew he now had to. _And are you familiar with the name Hermione Granger? Is that why you are curious?_

_**Mr. Diggory, I find myself disgusted with many, but their confliction with my beliefs rarely has anything to do with morality so much as… disagreements of **__**nature**__**. And the name Hermione Granger… **_ Cedric couldn't help but look over at her again; she was still scribbling away, and he could hear her writing even when he once more focused on the book. _** It sounds as if you made it up. I was going to advise you not to use the name as a pseudonym. Ever.**_

These words disappeared before a new sentence (made up of quite neat and intricate lettering, Cedric thought not a little enviously) turned up.

_** Can she see you writing to me?**_

Cedric tried to look inconspicuously, even though there was an odd twist in his gut (something didn't feel right), but he only saw her ever-laboring form of slouched girl hidden by voluminous hair and cloak, eyes still on paper and nowhere near his table.

_No. She isn't even looking. Too preoccupied with her own studies—_

_**I would appreciate it if this interaction is kept secret, Mr. Diggory. Could you please do this for me? **_It was surprising that the diary had interrupted him, for some reason.

_Can— _

Cedric scribbled that out.

_ May I ask why?_

_**You **__**may**__**. **_Cedric either wanted to scoff or smirk. _**But I choose not to answer at the moment. Now, please, Mr. Diggory, I ask that no one be made aware of these conversations. I do not wish to make you doubt your trust in me, but I must maintain privacy and secrecy... If you do not think that you can keep a secret, I will be forced into irresponsiveness. **_

…_And _he knew he _certainly_ did not have time for this. It was too puzzling, too cryptic, too many holes left blank. It wasn't safe. It wasn't smart. It was simply another opportunity to find out just how stupid Cedric Diggory really had become.

The book left him another message.

_** I am sorry, if this is what you choose.**_

Later, Cedric would note that this particular response was the one that changed everything. Later, he liked to think that he wouldn't have carried on with the book if it hadn't presented those words.

_… I will keep all interactions between us a secret. And please, refrain from calling me Mr. Diggory. Cedric is fine._

And the deed was done. Cedric knew (and ignored) that he should have stopped; given the book up, perhaps; not trusted it so willingly. He would research the diary later, though, and would continue to chat for now. He knew that this wouldn't be the last he spoke with the diary. Especially if it could help him.

The diary seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

_**Then Cedric I shall call you. But for now, what is it you wish to learn? And nothing on my origins, please. I've already told you far too much to maintain the pleasantness of light conversation.**_

Cedric preoccupied himself with refilling his quill while he pondered over his response. What _did_ he wish to learn from the diary? And, more importantly, what information did the diary have to offer?...

_I'll agree simply because the conversation must move on, but, I must tell you, I feel more befuddled now than I did when my ink first disappeared._

That was a safe statement. He needed to stall a bit, think his way through…

_**For that, I am sorry, but you are right in thinking that we must move forward. The trick to polite conversation is to never talk about oneself or the weather. Anything else is debatable, but do refrain from mentioning politics and spell-casting too much.**_

Cedric laughed aloud, not under his breath like he wanted to. He noticed that Granger looked up at him, seemingly noticing him for the first time. He pretended to be busy so as to not keep her attention. He wrote again to the book and did not include her observation in his writing. It was better that way, he knew.

_You are a diary with wit; how charming!_

_**Cedric, if you please… I am a part of man within a diary.**_

That was… perplexing. And it made him uncomfortable; he shifted, squirming in his seat. This was ominous, and he didn't think that his worry was founded only in his head.

_…And how did you get there?_

The diary—Riddle—did not, at first, respond.

_ Forgive me for prying, Mr. Riddle; I know we've already discussed the matter of your origins and privacy—_

_**I killed a man.**_

And this time, when the diary interrupted him, a bolt of fear zinged through his entire body; it started in his heart and spread through to his toes, his fingers, up to his hairline. Cedric shivered.

He dropped the quill immediately. The inked end of it slid across the page and left a trail of chicken-scratch hairs of black. They quickly disappeared—were consumed. He wondered how he should shut the book, for a gut instinct told him it needed to be shut. He didn't want too touch it, though.

Script somehow appeared cleverly around the broad white feather and its sharpened end. Cedric wondered, for the first time, how peculiar it was for something to drift from pure softness and transform into a deliberate point, a prickled danger.

_**And then I wrote myself in.**_

His fingertips trembled. He couldn't breathe—was this the diary's doing or his own? He felt out of control, frightened, _terrified!_ What was happening? Was his shortness of breath all in his head?

_**Tell me, Cedric… **_

He couldn't look away. He _couldn't!_

_** Did you **__**really**_ _**believe that?**_

And he almost choked. Cedric blinked rapidly, not wanting to believe his eyes and desperately wanting to believe them at the same time. He noticed that these words lasted a bit longer on the page.

He could almost _feel_ a faceless smirk.

Cedric Diggory was right well irritated now. He huffed and puffed and sulked. He hadn't been teased—and such a horrible thing to tease!—like that since he was small.

And it wasn't funny. He was _angry_. He wanted to drop the diary, kick it into some dark corner, and leave it be. He wanted to write back the nastiest things he could think of—and he was feeling quite creative at the moment, too.

But he couldn't do that, and he knew it.

_So what are you, a diary that shocks people to death?_

It wasn't as original (or as demeaning) as he wanted it to be, but anything else would be outright offensive. This was a backhanded insult, an easy, subtle jibe.

Unless it actually was a diary that shocked people to death.

_**It may have been a bit of cruel humor, but I did not lie when I said that I am more man than pages of writing canvass, as I'm sure you wish I was. It was a jest, dear Cedric. Don't tell me that you actually brought yourself into a panic over the absurdity of a murdering book?...**_

Well, his backhanded insult had seemingly back_fired_. How is it that Riddle managed to paint him into a fool so easily?

_One would think that, for having so much free time, as I'm sure you do, you'd be able to work up an actually __acceptable__ sense of humor. Forgive me for being startled by the responses of a faceless, mysterious author._

_**Forgive me, as well. It has been a while since I've made jokes.**_

"C-could I use that?" a hesitant voice asked of him.

Cedric looked up. And slammed the book shut on his quill, breaking it in the process.

"Excuse me?" he asked of Hermione Granger. She, however, was looking at his ruined quill. He glanced back down and made sure his hands covered the book completely. "Oh, um, I can fix that. And I mean, if not, I have… er, others." She was looking at him now, brow furrowed, and he could see the indecision in her wide brown eyes.

"I just, uh," she began to stutter, "I was wondering if I could use… that charms book! For my paper, I mean."

The charms book in question laid atop one of the piles closest him, and he wondered how she would have seen it from her own table. She cleared her throat, and Cedric saw through her strained nonchalance quite easily. Her arms crossed in front of her, and she shifted her weight unsteadily, biting her lip while doing so. Cedric thought she looked… torn. Her gaze only met his every few moments; she seemed as distracted as he felt.

He glanced down quickly. It felt as if the book beneath his fingertips quivered in irritation.

Eyes back up, Cedric replied, "Of course, if you need it, take it. It's not checked out under my name, I just, uh… picked it up just now, so… of course." How is it that he managed to acquire a stutter within the last five minutes? Even under duress he could still talk, surely (excusing his previous shock, though—or perhaps because of his previous shock)? Besides, he only felt this agitated when he knew he was interrupted in doing something wrong, bad. Perhaps he was?... He spared another glance at the diary and suddenly hoped that he wasn't acting too suspicious.

She hesitantly grabbed the book and tucked it to her chest. And then she stood there, not leaving but not contributing anything more. He watched as she bit her lip—very pink, he thought—again.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out; she choked on soundless words before him. He let her, because, really, he couldn't think of anything to say either.

Perhaps not "either." She looked like she _wanted_ to say something but couldn't work up the nerve to say it. Cedric waited (he was quite good at listening) for her to find her thoughts.

"I shouldn't—I mean, there's—" It was nothing, but it was something. He still looked to her, calmly meeting her eyes, trying to look encouraging without asserting any pressure on her. He managed to cover up the little book with another text on the sly, making it look like he was simply shifting around materials, keeping eye contact with her all the while. He could be patient.

"Has… has Harry… have you talked? With Harry, I mean?" she asked finally. Her eyes were wide with concern, and he began to feel nervous simply because she looked it.

"Yes." He nodded as well. "Just earlier today, actually." His supposed tranquility surprised him. In his head, thoughts were spinning. Could he confide in her that he knew about the dragons? Did _she_ know about the dragons?

Did he look like he was trying to keep a secret?

If he did, did she merely write it off as nervousness over the tournament?

It took quite a bit of effort to not rip the diary off of the table and shove it into his bag and out of sight.

"Do you know about… _the dragons?_" she whispered, leaning in after she checked to make sure that no one was around them.

He nodded slowly.

She breathed a sigh of what seemed to be relief. He watched as her eyes closed and her breath left her. She looked so much looser now. Had she actually cared? If he knew or not?

"I just," she began, "I just wanted to be sure you knew. I mean, Harry knows, Viktor and Fleur do as well, I'm sure… I just needed to be… certain… that you knew too."

Her cheeks and neck were a bit redder, he noticed.

"Can—Can I ask why? Why you wanted to tell me?"

She paused, biting her lip once more. It was sort of endearing, but it made her look quite young and unsure of herself. _Perhaps she needs more confidence_, he thought to himself. _Confidence? Blimey no! She's a Gryffindor! She just needs more social skill, that's all._

"I… wanted to make sure you knew so you didn't get… hurt." He blinked, surprised. She lost her poise then, sighing, grimacing, and she pulled out a chair across from him. After she plopped down, they both noticed that they could only see a part of the other's face over his stacks. He laughed quietly and moved his chair around so they could speak more amicably.

"I've done so much research," she sighed, clenching her eyes shut and rubbing her forehead. "There have been so many accidents in this tournament. It's a disgrace that the faculty—and the heads of the wizarding world!—should want to continue such… barbaric customs." She shifted more to look directly at him, pouring out her worry to his practically stranger's status. "Harry, he doesn't know what he's in for—that people have _died_, Cedric!" They both flinched, and she muttered an apology.

"But don't you think that the 'heads of the wizarding world,' as you put it, would stop the games if we were in danger? I mean," he took a breath, "don't you trust Dumbledore to keep things in control?"

"But that's just it!" she cried, lifting her arms exaggeratedly. He almost quieted her, but she continued on in a softer tone. "They—_you_ will _already be _in danger! Just by setting foot in those—those… _monsters' paths!_" He didn't think it fair to refer to the dragons as monsters, but he definitely conceded the point.

She huffed angrily. "It's just so stupid! So sickening! Sickening to think that people would derive enjoyment from students, _learners_, facing off against a fire-breathing _dragon!_ It's pure stupidity to be involved in the whole thing!"

Granger finally seemed to grasp who it was she was talking to and had the guile to look sheepish. "Not to say that—that _you_ are… unintelligent." She was very, very red. He nodded his forgiveness, and she exhaled, once again, in response.

"I'm sorry, but… it's so worrying. And I just had to make sure that you had as much protection as the others do—as much prior knowledge and such. It's… fairer that way… still vile, but fairer."

She looked at him again, and he thought that maybe, for a second, she could see how forlorn he felt. "It's also safer." Granger put her hand on the edge of the desk, leaning in reassuringly. "You—all of you—are so much safer with that knowledge too."

He had never thought of it that way. Up until now, he almost wished he _didn't_ know about the dragons so wouldn't be constantly seizing up to a panic. He realized she was unquestionably right, and her concern unsettled him but also made him feel better.

"Thank you, Granger—Hermione." She gave him a smile; he noticed it was a bit watery and began silently begging to whoever was listening that she wouldn't cry. He patted her hand that was still on the table-top comfortingly, if a bit awkwardly too. She laughed a bit at that but finally sniffled, wiping the other hand over her face just a bit to catch any tears that may have traitorously leaked out; he was happy that there weren't any.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you, and I would have asked Harry, but he's so stressed… I imagine you all are." He gave a grimacing smile that made them both chuckle.

"I hope for your safety tomorrow, Cedric."

"Even still, you'll be rooting for Harry, no doubt." The statement was supposed to make her smile, but he thought it sounded a bit like he was flirting. That was surprising to him.

She blushed prettily once more and blinked a bit. Not trying to catch his attention, he could tell, but thinking and trying not to look like she was.

"I might wear something yellow, I suppose. After all, the tournament is supposed to be about wizarding cooperation and all. I believe that it could be extended and applied just within the school too."

He smiled and agreed quietly. They paused and examined each other. Their conversation wasn't exactly uncomfortable; just new. "Thank you again, Hermione," he said.

"You don't have to thank me, Cedric. It was the right thing to do."

He shrugged. "All the same."

She stood and stepped away from the chair. He was contemplating if he should stand too for her exit when she noticeably turned her attention back to him.

"Oh, and… if you need this book… well, I don't really need it, I just didn't know how to…" she trailed off awkwardly, tipping her head to the side slightly in embarrassment.

"Yes, thanks," he offered, taking the book from her and setting it on one of the stacks on his table.

Gauche and tactless. That was what the air between them had once again become.

It was a pity; he thought it quite nice to talk to her. He knew before that she was undoubtedly intelligent. Now he knew she was kind. Perhaps they could interact more in the future.

"Well, I-I have to go… Harry needs… um… for tomorrow…"

He wanted to ask her if she knew his strategy—it was likely she was helping him with it. But he knew that wouldn't do and only nodded.

She dipped her head, seemingly asking permission for dismissal. He gave it, and, after a little, shy wave, she walked back to her table, picked up her bag—she had put all of her materials in it already, he saw—and hurried out of the area, towards the exit of the library.

It was his turn to sigh now, albeit tiredly.

And then, suddenly, he remembered. The task was still tomorrow. He still was unprepared. And… now he probably had a furious book to deal with.

He dragged his chair around and sat back down. With a flick of his wand, he vanished his old quill and took out another. Then, he opened the little diary.

Before he actually wrote, he dropped a blob of ink, thick and pooling, onto the paper which he had been writing on.

His talk with Hermione was a refreshing dose of (somewhat) normal, human interaction. He felt like he hadn't had that in weeks.

If the blob didn't disappear, he knew that he had really been imagining all this time. The book was, most likely, the product of his panicked and overactive mind. Granger's interruption with this "conversing" had changed his perspective on the book to absurd and impossible now. He felt a bit silly and unwilling to believe his previous thoughts of an actual _talking book_—

His ink disappeared into the book's pages.

Hmm. For a moment, he was a bit disappointed; a talking book was quite a creative, if troubling, thing to imagine.

And he had really wanted to laugh this entire situation off later.

Because Granger had reminded him—_dragons_. _Tomorrow_.

And, when he thought things couldn't have picked a more opportune time to become just a bit more peculiar and frustrating…

Tom did not write back.

_Are you there?_

No answer.

_What's happened? Can you not respond?_

Still, no answer.

But the dark ink kept slowly fading, into the sheets. He quickly flipped through all of the pages. They were all still blank, excepting the very first; the first page where Tom's name still (barely) stood out in elegant script.

Cedric wrote again.

_Tom? Are you there still? I haven't meant to offend you, but you told me not to let others know of your… _(here, Cedric pondered) _existence _(hopefully, the right word). _I was interrupted briefly and thought it best not to be writing in a diary that responds—_

_**Granger?**_

Cedric was baffled and (more than slightly) impressed.

_Yes, she interrupted me. Us._

Riddle's answer was slow-coming.

_**What, if I may, Mr. Diggory, was our symbol? Draw out the password for me.**_

Cedric's brow turned heavy with disbelief and confusion. What symbol?

_Password?_

Riddle's response came with pointed spines of taller letters and thin, thorny vowels. He was _very_ restless.

_**Draw it now, or I will not respond. I have warned you before.**_

No it hadn't! He and the book hadn't even _mentioned_ passwords, let alone symbols or any such thing! Perhaps the book was demented (or at least the speaker was), but Cedric knew it best not to point out that fact lest it become downright _angry_ (he still didn't know what powers it held and, even when complacent, it had no intentions of telling him). But still…

_You didn't speak anything of symbols. We don't have a password._

Cedric glared at the little (puny, Cedric thought; it sounded more derogative) diary. He was stressed again. But he was upset mostly because he had finally reached a calm after his conversation with Granger that was quickly being diminished.

He was about to shut the book, fingers almost brutalizing the pages with his vicious, angry grip—the book had merely been wasting his time; he was a fool yet again—when it responded. And not unpleasantly, Cedric noted.

_**That is correct, Mr. Diggory.**_

Those words had almost disappeared completely as Cedric spent time blinking. _Of course_ it was correct!

_**But, I feel as if we **__**should**__** have a symbol. Not a password, those are too easy to guess.**_

_A symbol?_ Cedric finally wrote dumbly. Had it really all been a ploy? A ploy directed at someone that wasn't him, should he have lost the book?

_**Yes, a symbol, so I can know it is you who is speaking. I may have the intelligence and the information you seek, but, unlike you, I do not have eyes. Writing can be forged, but secrets cannot be easily stolen. Do you agree?**_

Cedric took a breath. It claimed to have the answers he needed. And, while the entire thing was too suspicious—the diary had been found to be paranoid—he was too, _too_ desperate. He vowed that (contrary to his earlier assumptions), after he asked about the dragons, it would be the last he interacted with Tom Riddle.

_I agree. _Though he wouldn't need to use a password after this. His manipulation was cruel, and he felt a bit shamefaced (irrationally, he kept telling himself), but he didn't think that the diary could be trusted. If it wasn't for his predicament with the tournament, he would have already turned the blasted thing in.

At least, that was what he told himself.

_**Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Diggory? It cannot be something you will forget.**_

Cedric wanted to point out that it would also have to be something that Riddle himself wouldn't forget either. He didn't.

_**Perhaps something from your name? A picture from some of the letters, maybe?**_

Cedric thought for a moment.

_Would this work?_

And then he drew a small circle, no bigger that a sickle, and put a vertical line right through the center of it. It looked like a little "O" divided in half.

_C and then D, all in one._

_**Cute.**_

Cedric wanted to growl in irritation.

_Shouldn't you have one to respond with, so __I__ know that it's __you__ in there? I may have eyes, but I can't see into books. At least not past the words, and seeing as how yours only come up when I talk to you… _He trailed off a bit snobbishly, but it did make him feel (guiltily) a bit better. The bloke in the book hadn't been exactly antagonistic (at least, not without _some_ provocation), and he _had_ offered to help Cedric out. But he—it— was still rude.

Riddle appeared unfazed, though. In fact, his response was laced with a touch of amusement that made Cedric sniff.

_**Oh, dear Mr. Diggory, do not fret. I promise you, I am the only one within these pages. You need not worry over little old me.**_

The corner of Cedric's mouth twitched. Even as it did, he wasn't sure if it was twitching up or down.

_**But, I think that I should help enable you to put, at least, **__**a little**__** trust in me. When you draw out yours, I will respond in kind with…**_

And then a strange picture appeared. It was a little box with a "t" in the middle, splitting it into four equal parts. The section on the bottom left had a tiny "V" in it; a few moments passed before Cedric recognized its attachment to the sides of its box as being an "M". The section on the upper right had a diagonal line drawn through it, like a little hill up to the corner of the entire box. Cedric could see that the entire right half of the drawing had been transformed into an "R".

_**I think that my task was more difficult than yours, by the by…**_

_You managed well enough. But yours is more convoluted and difficult to interpret. Must everything be so complex with you?_

_**I do wish you knew how you make me laugh, Cedric.**_

Cedric contemplated this strange banter. He breathed deeply, preparing himself. His conscience was at war with his plan, and yet, he knew his plan to be a good one. He didn't think that the book could be trusted, but that didn't mean that he should take advantage of the man that was inside. It was wrong, morally, ethically, and socially wrong, and, though his gut twisted, he forced himself to write:

_Tom, do you know anything about dragons?_

The reply seemed to take hours in appearing, and Cedric thought that he might've started to sweat.

_**You know, Cedric, I do. But what is it, exactly, that you wish to know?**_

_What is the best way one can fight a dragon?_

Cedric held his breath.

_**…One doesn't.**_

Cedric threw down his quill. He ran his hands through his hair and _pulled_, almost crying out with his frustration. What was he to do? He only had one idea of how to get help, and that had been completely—

_**Cedric, are you in a spot of trouble? Tell me what's going on and why you would need to fight a dragon. I **__**will**__** help you, but I must know what you're facing…**_

Cedric clenched his eyes shut tightly before picking back up the feather and pouring out his soul into the "listening" pages of Tom M. Riddle. And he felt so much lighter afterwards. Better than he had felt after his conversation with Granger. He felt himself able to _think_ again…

_**A Triwizard Champion, you say? Well, first off, congratulations…**_

Cedric rolled his eyes and bit his lip, praying to Merlin for just one answer, one idea, one thing he could do…

_**And second… Will you let me show you something, Cedric?**_

Cedric, confused, replied, _If it helps, I'll let you do anything you wish._

_**I don't need you to do anything but wait a bit while I find what I'm looking for… Trust me, I think this will help.**_

His words completely faded, and Cedric had to move his hands back from the diary because of its briskly turning pages. When the fluttering settled, he noted that he was much further into the book of blank paper. However, there was a date beginning to substantiate on the corner of the new page.

_**16 of October, 1957**_

And then, a small, framed slit of a box appeared with the date. It flickered with color and looked as if it was trying to find a particular image. Cedric leaned in to the book and tried to hold the tiny box up to his face. He wasn't supposed to be watching _this_, surely? Nothing was—

And then, something _did_ happen. A very extreme something.

Cedric felt pulled and squeezed and bent and falling. It was like apparation (he'd been side-along with his parents before—that and those classes that the ministry offered) only almost more unpleasant and disconcerting.

And when everything finally stopped and his blurred senses became clearer, Cedric found himself looking at the back of a tall, cloaked man.

Cedric was breathing heavily, and the man turned slightly to look at him.

He had dark, dark eyes, was older, and had hair so brown that it was black.

His sharp cheeks, his intense stare, his considerable height, his pale skin…

"Tom?" Cedric gasped. "Tom Riddle?"

Cedric wished that there was more light; the sky was so cloudy that it blocked out the moon and the stars. They were deep inside a forest, it seemed, and Cedric tried not to be frightened when he thought that the trees looked familiar.

They were in the Forbidden Forest in the late hours of night. He was certain of it.

"Tom, is that you? What are we doing here? How did I—?"

The man turned his back on Cedric and strode away without response. Cedric, irritated, firmly stood his ground, waiting for the man to say something until he realized that he was being left alone. He quickly scrambled after him.

It was only a few moments before Cedric Diggory noticed that his clumsy, hurried tread made no noise on the frosted ground.

So distracted was he by his peculiar realization that he only barely managed to stop himself from running into what, he supposed, was Tom Riddle's back. Cedric noticed that Riddle had his wand out at the ready. Cedric took out his as well, frightened at not knowing what was going on.

"Tom," he whispered (though he didn't know exactly why he kept his voice low). The man did not stir. "Tom, what's going on? Can you hear me?"

He went to put his hand on the man's arm and was terribly shocked when it sunk right through.

He was fairly certain that neither he (nor the man) was a ghost. So what could have…?

Cedric studied the man once again; he had to squint because of the inconvenient darkness. But, when he had gone to try _lumos_, nothing had happened. Cedric didn't allow himself to panic, though, because he finally noticed how odd the man really was.

He was attractive, to be certain, but his hair was parted in a style that Cedric recognized for being… aged. His cloak and other clothing were old-looking too. And he finally realized that the man hadn't once seen him or heard him this entire time, despite what Cedric had originally thought.

Was he in… a memory? One of the entries in Tom Riddle's diary that Riddle _himself_ had put there, perhaps?

If so, what could he _possibly_ learn from this?

He had thought that he was corporeal; he wasn't. Even if he didn't think he could get hurt (and knew that he couldn't use his magic anyway), Cedric kept his wand tightly in his hand.

It seemed like time was slower than usual; the darkness altered his senses, and he was stressed, uncertain, and very frightened. His blood pumped hot and quickly, but he felt sluggish and muddled despite it. The man, cool as the damp night air around them, kept his eyes focused off into the thickest of trees, waiting for something that Cedric was certain he did not want to see.

There was a rustle, and Cedric had a feeling that it wasn't just imagined on his part; he could tell that the man recognized it. However, the man did not tense. He merely ducked low, body hugging a thick brown trunk, and, with no hesitation at all, Cedric quickly copied his movements.

Another stirring in the darkness. After a minute, Cedric could just barely see the shadowed stranger hidden in the trees opposite them. He wouldn't have found it, though, if he hadn't been watching Riddle's eyes.

Time passed while they all stood still.

And then the other creature—man or beast, Cedric did not know—left them, darting quickly away.

Tom stood and swung his wand arm around the tree in the direction of the dark figure's path. Cedric watched him flick his wand, the man's eyes black and furrowed in concentration. Cedric moved so he could see to where Riddle's magic was aimed.

At first, there was nothing, not even a jet of color from the tip of his wand.

And there was still nothing until a great, fiery explosion shook the forest around them and blinded Cedric with the unexpected flash of light. He fell to the ground with a surprised yelp and flung up his wand-wielding arm to protect his eyes.

What _was_ that?

Shrieks and roars echoed throughout the forest from far away—all except for one squeal that came only from some two-hundred meters distance.

Cedric peeked out again and was surprised that the core of the fire was so far away. How big was the explosion that it blasted even _him_ at his considerable distance? Because of the new light, he now could see the profile of the half-man, half-horse that tore up the trees' roots with its heavy, uncontrolled stomping. The creature's hands covered its face as it screamed in agony.

The centaur's eyes were burnt out.

Cries of anger and ferocious shouts were nearing Riddle and he. Cedric turned, terrified (and he wasn't certain of whom, now that he noticed that Riddle still gripped his wand), and began pleading with the man to take him away, get him out of the forest, make him understand that his wand didn't work and that he didn't want to harm the centaurs anyway. He knew that this was a memory that he was being shown, though, and Riddle took no notice of him. Cedric's mind whirled in panic, and he thought he might vomit if the screaming got any closer.

Riddle calmly reached under the neck of his robes and pulled out some type of pendant hanging from a chain around his neck. Cedric couldn't see it clearly; Riddle was still kept hidden behind the tree. He bent his knees and slid against the rough trunk at his back until he half-sat on the ground. One hand held his wand tightly and the other worked its way around the pendant, rubbing against some bit of gold.

A fog of nothingness started to slide slowly over Riddle's body, starting from his neck and spreading out from there. Some seconds passed before the only visible part of him was the faint outline of his form that hunched in the darkness against the sad-looking tree. Cedric quickly sat next to him and hoped with all his might that the fast-coming centaurs wouldn't notice them both.

Bodies of horse and men suddenly stormed past his stricken, pale face. None hesitated and none stayed behind. The pair waited a minute. And then, when Cedric finally looked back to Riddle's silhouette, he noticed that one of his arms was bent around the tree again.

And the forest brightened once more, and, again did the shouts increase. Four more centaurs raced past the pair's hiding place toward the burning. Two lagged behind the small group after they noticed that they had been abandoned at their posts. Six in total that Cedric did not notice; he wondered how Riddle knew of their presence.

Only then did the invisible Riddle rise and begin to walk away from the fire, away from the centaurs, away from Cedric, and into the still dark areas of fog, trees, and dampness. Cedric began to follow but couldn't help himself from looking back once more.

If he didn't know better, he would have thought that the centaurs were doing some wild, spiritual dance around a fire so high.

But he did know better, and he knew that they were enraged with this atrocity being committed in their home, being committed to those of their own people. Cedric knew that they would eventually put out the fire and tend to their wounded; he did not think that any had died, not even that lone creature that he had first seen.

He did not think that Tom Riddle had even wanted to hurt any of them anyway.

Riddle simply did not want them where he was going, Cedric realized, and he watched the wizard's shimmering outline disappear into the darkness that he knew to be the dwelling of those centaurs that were now putting out Riddle's own fire.

Cedric was then blinded again by the lights of the library as they quickly came to meet his eyes; he almost screamed, and he found that it took him a full minute to finally control his breathing.

Almost ripping the paper, Cedric penned, _What __was__ that?_

_**If I may make a request, Mr. Diggory… do not ask me what I was searching for. Ask me of my tactic and not of my whereabouts, please.**_

_You did not answer me. _And you are making it quite difficult for me to trust you in _any_ way, even for help with these dragons. But Cedric didn't write that…

_**Pardon. It was a memory, Cedric, a memory from my 28-year-old self. I decided to share it with you because I think it may be of some use.**_

He had been right. A memory. Cedric glanced around the library. He noticed that there were not any students among the shelves but all of the candles were still brightly lit. It was time for dinner, perhaps?...

Dinner?!

_Hours__ have passed! I don't have much time now, so, please, do try to be less cryptic._

_**I'll be as forthcoming as I can be in light of the situation. I promise that any omissions I make are merely present to keep you thinking. And now, I shall ask **__**you**__**… What is it do you think that I did?**_

And that was a loaded question, at least to Cedric. There were quite a few responses that immediately popped into Cedric's mind, among them being, "_Scared the pants off of me!_", "_Terrorized a group of centaurs_", and…

…and the response that Cedric wrote down to Tom.

_…You kept them from where you wanted to be._

Cedric could have sworn that he felt the diary beneath his hands hum with appreciation and approval.

_**And how did I do that? **_Where was Riddle taking this?… Cedric thought he might be able to see the importance…

_You gave them something else to do. You started their bloody forest on fire!_

_**I did start the forest on fire to "give them something else to do"; now tell me **__**why**__**, Cedric.**_

_That spell was wicked by the way. _Yes, Cedric, stall for time to become less confused and shaken.

Riddle ended up calling him out.

_**Go on, please…**_

Cedric hesitated a moment, though he was almost positive of Riddle's intentions.

_You wanted to keep their attention elsewhere so you could slip by._

_**Exactly. I wanted to distract them. One does not always have to fight, you know. Cleverness does have a part in determining success.**_

_So… _Cedric took a breath. _ …you think I should distract a dragon and not necessarily fight one?_

Riddle seemed to hesitate too. _**…I think it foolish for one as young as you to fight a dragon. I mean no offense or patronization when I say that, Cedric. Surely, you must understand…**_

_I think I understand. Instead of acting offensively or defensively, I should avoid conflict altogether. That is what you mean, right?_

_**Correct.**_

Cedric had to pause here. What the diary was telling him made absolute sense, even though he still felt a bit green about the whole ordeal. Distraction would be a good method, but such tactic would take a lot of control out of his hands if it didn't work.

_**I know it would work. **_Cedric thought that Riddle had considerably good timing, seeing as how he was encased in a diary. _**Dragons are intelligent creatures… but you are smarter. Distraction **__**would work**__**, Mr. Diggory. I think you need to put some more trust in **__**yourself**__**, too, if you are determined to do this.**_

…When did this conversation suddenly turn into a pep talk? Oh well. Cedric knew he needed some confidence boosting, among other things.

Like an actual plan.

Not just a clever idea. A clever idea that he knew to be very, _very_ intelligent, considering his (low) skill level with dragons. But that same idea didn't sit well with him quite yet… Perhaps it was the look of the devastated centaurs when they realized what had happened… Or maybe it was the deviousness (it felt like he was manipulating others; very cheap and almost cheating) of Riddle's suggestion… Or maybe… his already bruised ego… Using distraction didn't seem fitting for a champion... But neither did stupidity, and it would definitely be stupidity reigning if he went out to face that dragon tomorrow head-on.

He really, truly wished that he could know what the others had planned. Perhaps he could try to get some more information out of Granger? Nicely, of course. She had already been… well, not a great help, as she hadn't told him anything he hadn't already known… but she had seemed quite decent. Decent people did those sorts of things, like make sure that a fellow classmate (and possible rival—damn buttons) know that he could very well be burned to a crisp the next day if he didn't get his act together…

Tom interrupted his pondering (and fretting, if he was honest… which he was, even if he felt a bit guilty about his building plans of… distracting manipulation).

_**There is no shame in clever avoidance. However, there **__**is**__** shame in the foolishness of trying to complete a task that you **__**know**__** you cannot do. Tell me that you are not a Gryffindor and will not let your pride be your downfall?...**_

_I'm a Hufflepuff. And, regardless of my house, I can see the stupidity of facing off with a dragon because of being too stubborn to back down. _Even though he wasn't sitting very well with the idea.

_**Just remember, it is wrong to pursue the things that we are incapable of doing. We must always know our limits, and I mean it when I say that I do not think you weak or stupid. Few **__**adult**__** wizards could survive a conflict with a dragon, and even they would have scars. You are young and it is too much to ask for you to openly fight a dragon. My guess is that they—your school leaders—will merely ask for you to get past it. And the only way for you to realistically do so is for you to distract it.**_

Riddle's tone sounded almost pleading, and his seriousness did, in fact, have quite the moving affect on Cedric. He knew he was resigned with his tactic now, but he did have a few questions for Tom.

_…You wouldn't distract it, would you?_

_**What makes you ask that, Mr. Diggory?**_

Cedric hesitated, biting his lip and squinting his eyes. Almost reluctantly did he start to write. _That spell—I don't know what it was, but it was… ridiculously powerful. And your pendant… You are obviously a powerful, clever wizard. You would not need to distract a dragon._

Although Tom had paused many times before, Cedric was most curious _this time_ as to why. He wasn't exactly anticipating the answer—he'd already pegged that Riddle would respond indirectly—but he was certainly interested in the motives behind this particular timidity. Was he thinking out the situation? Was he editing? Was he formulating a lie?

_**…What I would or would not do when faced with a dragon is none of your concern. I am not you, I am older than you **_(twenty-eight was not so old, Cedric thought)_**, and, if I were clever, I would not ever **__**find**__** myself face-to-face with a dragon of my own volition. I was not lying when I said that the best way to fight a dragon is to not. What you must do is out of necessity, and I think that I have given you just the idea of how to do it.**_

Cedric pursed his lips. _An idea, but not a plan… How do I go about distracting a dragon?_

Riddle's answer came surprisingly quickly, and it certainly made Cedric think.

_**Well, you need to figure out what it is that you can work to your advantage. Curses are out of the question, unless you can target them away from the dragon in some way, like I did the fire. Are you particularly good at charms? Transfiguration? Any useful hexes coming to mind?**_

It took merely a moment for Cedric to answer; though he had been a fool up to this point, he _had_, in fact, studied up on his strengths, had taken more notice of what was useful to him and what he was best at.

_I'm actually quite good with transfiguration. Charms probably comes in second with my top abilities, and then arithmancy, but that probably wouldn't help. And I really haven't studied so much on hexes… They fascinate me, but they frighten me too._

_**…How well do you excel in defense, then? **_Cedric did not like the fact that he thought Tom might've just become a bit worried…

_I'm not horrible, but I'm not genuinely worth mentioning. Back when the professors reintroduced the dueling club, I was… _Cedric tried to think of a word; he didn't want to describe himself as mediocre, or even average. Modesty had its places, but he knew that Riddle and he had to be absolutely truthful in this evaluation. With a gulp, he realized that his health (mostly his skin; he did not think that being burnt would be comfortable at all) depended on it. _…I was somewhat talented but wasn't quite in the same category as the best students. I know the curses… They just… don't always work for me._

_**…Hmm… While your prowess in charms may be useful, I think it best to focus our attention on what you, yourself, feel most confident with. **_Cedric could almost imagine the dark-haired Riddle cracking his long fingers and settling in with determination. Strangely, picturing this Riddle made him wonder exactly how old he was when he was—put in? trapped in?—the diary. Cedric thought that his final age had to be longer off than only twenty-eight. He shook his head; that was a question for another time.

Another time? He had to keep telling himself that this _was_ the _last time_. He couldn't do this again. He wouldn't.

He cleared his head once more with a quick shake and then began to write.

_What I am most confident in is, in fact, transfiguration. Also, it does not take concentration to maintain a transfiguration spell once cast, unlike when using a charm. I think that it would be prudent to pursue a plan with transfiguration as our main tool._

_**Good, good. Now, we must not underestimate your dragon problem. How is it that you think we should use transfiguration against it?**_

_Well, it would depend on what my surroundings were. If I could find something the right size, I could probably transfigure… _Cedric trailed off. What? What could he transfigure or conjure to distract a dragon?

_**Cedric… how adept are you with inanimate to animate transfiguration?**_

He thought for a second or two. _Fairly, I would say. If I could find something big enough… I think I could probably transfigure up to… a horse, maybe? In size, anyway, and temporarily, of course._

_**Yes, you wouldn't need anything non-temporary. Do you have any ideas?**_

Cedric bit his lip, pondering his abilities and how to best use them. He could, quite nicely, take advantage of his skill with transfiguration and form some type of other target for the dragon—as long as he could find some appropriate base matter within the area, that was.

_I think you're on to something with the inanimate-animate transfiguration. The dragon would be most inclined to put its attention in something that was "alive" rather than not. I believe that, should there be any useful materials… I could make some type of creature (animal, maybe?) for about… seven minutes maximum, if it's bigger than… well, about a dog, I'd say. _Cedric frowned thoughtfully. _But Tom… I don't even know if there will even __be__ anything sizeable—let alone something I can transfigure!—where I'll be._

_**Hmm… You know the summoning spell, don't you? A simple accio should do the trick—but it might take a minute, depending on where you are. However, I'm presuming that you'll be outside; no dragon would be allowed in the castle, even for such an event as this.**_

Cedric was somewhat happy with Riddle's suggestions. He was even starting to feel… giddy? He almost bounced in his chair as he kept writing, a slight smile on his face.

Cedric was, actually, quite fond of solving puzzles.

In fact, he would _love_ brainstorming for a way around this—if he wasn't the one that had to face the dragon.

_What do you propose I summon, then, if there's nothing there? And what animal do you think a dragon would most be distracted by? I'm thinking that it has to make noise…_

_**That is an excellent idea. You say you can create something up to about a horse?**_

_I'm actually thinking that a dog would do the trick—I'd mentioned it before, and I think that it would work. I can make it bark, if I find the right trigger spell and infuse it with my original transfigurations._

_**Because, of course, inanimate to animate transfigurations do not have appropriate sound as they are not the real creature. Impressive, Mr. Diggory.**_

Cedric chuckled a bit; he was just about to point that out.

_I must say that I am impressed as well. You are quite the bookish fellow, you know._

_**So clever, aren't we Cedric?**_

He laughed. Again.

He was actually _enjoying_ himself. How was it that the _diary_, of all things, was keeping him calm? And actually _helping_ him? Last ditch efforts sometimes _did_ come in handy.

_**Anyway, I might suggest that, should you have no proper material, you should summon something that is found outside and relatively close to the area. Rocks, fallen logs, large chairs even. Whatever is nearest and whatever is easiest are two different things that you have to account for, because (and not to make you nervous, Cedric) you will have to hurry. The dragon will not be lounging around and waiting for **__**you**__** to attack, so you best take note of the area you're in as soon as you get there, not as soon as you face your task. It is important that you leave room for some adaptations to your plan depending on timing, skill, and defense as well as offense… I do wish I could be of more help, Cedric.**_

Cedric blinked. He did not expect that.

_You __are__ helping, _he reassured, _more-so than I've helped myself these past few weeks. _He bit his lip. _If I hadn't have stumbled across your diary, Tom, I don't know what I would be doing right now besides panicking._

**...**_**Thank you, Cedric. But, if you'll excuse me and my melancholy, we really must focus on **__**you**__** right now. **_Cedric sighed and shook his head. He thought that Tom was maybe editing what he really wanted to say, sacrificing his own problems in light of Cedric's rather precarious one; it was surprising. The diary had quite the peculiar personality. _** Like I was saying, you must be prepared to adapt. And if you have enough materials, I think that you should transfigure more animals. One dog (and I do like this choice—it would be best if it was larger than the average crup, though) may not be enough to distract a dragon for very long, and we don't even know what exactly it is you'll be doing anyway as the Triwizard task. Be prepared to have more than one distraction. **__**This is important, Cedric.**__** Because the distraction you are aiming to create is relatively small, it would be quite clever to have more than one at the ready.**_

Cedric furrowed his brow in thought. _But will I have enough time? That's something we have to figure in too. Also, how much energy will making these dogs take as compared to how much I need to complete the task? Those are things we have to consider._

_**You are correct, Mr. Diggory, but you must also not let yourself panic. Panicked people often think they have less time than they actually do. Be level-headed, but do let your adrenaline work for you too. Instinct is often better than clear thought in active situations, unless that instinct is really only fear in disguise.**_

But how to tell the difference between the two?

_You're right, _he conceded.

_**Cedric… if you do have to stall and wait for a summoning to be completed… what do you plan on doing?**_

_Well, here's where I think it would be invaluable to know exactly what __type__ of dragon I'll be facing off with. I can think of a few small things like light charms and such, but I really don't know how effective they'll be. I mean, I don't know a lot about dragons, but I know that a concentrated light spell would have more of an effect on a Norwegian Ridgeback than, say, a Green Welsh. For the Welsh, I would probably use a fire light, as that dragon is most sensitive to the __combination__ of heat and brightness. If I had used the same spell on the Ridgeback, I would've increased the possibility of being harmed because it responds well to heat, despite having residence in Norway, of all places. It's those things, Tom, that would determine success. And despite all that, I'm panicking over the thought of provoking the dragon—because, surely, that's what I'll be doing if I used a light charm. How would I distract it after antagonizing it so? How could they not have told us it was __dragons__!?_

He was getting worked up again.

_**Do calm down, Mr. Diggory. We cannot come up with a good plan while you are being unreasonable.**_

Cedric scowled, lighter mood currently forgotten. He thought it was _quite_ reasonable to be upset over his lack of knowledge—and it was _reasonable_ to expect the heads of the competition to tell him a bit of the tasks, too.

_**I think it best for you to not worry yourself too much over which type of dragon you'll have to face. Instead, focus on light charms in general (you want them blinding, not damaging—less irritation, I'd think, in regards to your other objections). If they don't distract the dragon, at least they'll put it off guard. But **__**beware**__** of that, Cedric. An off-guard dragon is still dangerous; it'll probably tramp around, snort and roar, and there will still be fire, despite whether it's aimed intentionally at you or not.**_

Cedric ran a hand through his hair and dipped his quill for more ink. _So, use a concentrated light charm, should I have to._

_**…Yes, I believe that concentrated would do the trick. Try more for making the lights bright and not just big.**_

_Good point,_ he wrote, chewing at his lip.

_**Now… unless you can think of anything else, I believe that you have some brushing up to do.**_

_Yes, you are absolutely right, Tom. _Cedric's left-hand fingers were lodged in his hair in his petulance—and a bit of worry; it was all well and good to have a plan, but now he needed to make sure that he had skills enough to carry it out. _I should be going. Transfiguration texts are calling, and the library should be closing soon._

_**I may suggest that you try to find a book called **__**Animal Animates**__** by Fawley. Cumbersome, but helpful, especially for this. He gives you tricks on how to make the animates last longer, should you need it. Oh, and he does list all sorts of appropriate original matter too. Don't forget what I said about the accio.**_

Cedric let a little smile squeeze over his lips. _Thank you, Tom. I think I'll also study up a bit on light charms, just in case._

_**Cedric? Do me a favor?**_

_What is it, Tom?_

_**No researching on dragons tonight. Contrary to what you may want, it'll do you no good, and you know it.**_

He sighed heavily, acknowledging the truth in Tom's statement, even when his stomach squirmed in nervousness at the thought of seeing tomorrow's ventures without much foresight on the creatures he would be facing.

But such studying would only make him become more frantic.

_Yes, Tom. You are right._

_**And if you are practicing and getting frustrated because something is not going well… just go to bed, Cedric. Do you have any vials of Dreamless Sleep potion anywhere? I'd recommend it, because I daresay that you need to rest. Not too late to bed.**_

Cedric frowned peevishly, but, again, he could not refute what Tom had said. His words were wise, after all.

_I may be able to ask for a vial from Madam Pomfrey before hours are over._

_**Good, Cedric… I wish only for your safety, dear Mr. Diggory.**_

Cedric's mouth twitched and he even blushed a bit, but he wasn't sure why.

_Why, many thanks Mr. Riddle, _he responded too-cordially, _for your advice and for your touching concern._

_**You are most welcome. Do tell me how things turn out, yes? It would be a shame for me to have to believe you dead if you did not write again. And then what would I do, stuck in this diary by myself?**_

Cedric laughed, despite the bit about him dying. _Become madder than you already are, I'm sure._

_**Ha.**_

With another chuckle, he bid Tom farewell.

_**May your success be great, as I'm sure it will be.**_

Cedric blushed again in modesty, but, secretly, he took great pleasure from the compliment.

At the end of the (worrying) night, however, he did need that Dreamless Sleep draught after all. His nerves would not listen to him, even as he listened to Tom.

He quite liked having such a comrade in this. Their discussion was of merit and truly, truly helped.

Tom Riddle was one of the most strategic coaches that he had ever come across, he decided. Cedric positively forgot all about his earlier testament to never correspond with the diary again. It _was_ quite the useful thing.

**- - - - -**

Waking up on Wednesday was one of the greatest reliefs of Cedric's life.

He had _done_ it. He had actually _done it!_

Not particularly well, mind you… but he had _gotten past a dragon_, for Merlin's sake!

He had panicked when Tom had told him not to. He only got one measly dog out, though it had worked… for a time… And when he noticed that the dragon had turned its attention back at him, what had he done?

Absolutely nothing. Not even a bloody light charm.

Cedric was immensely disappointed with his iced-up moment of panic and what it had cost him—how many points and how much pain (even if relieved now) it had cost him. But he didn't _really_ care about that, if he thought about the outcome enough.

Because he was _so damned elated_ that he had gotten past a _dragon! He'd succeeded! _And no amount of points (or scars—there weren't any, thanks to Poppy Pomfrey) would change that.

In his heart, he had already won the task, even if he wasn't in the lead of the tournament.

His head, however, told him that he still had to focus, that he couldn't fool-off like before, that this tournament wasn't over, and that, most of all, he could do _better_ if he just kept at it this time.

It shamed him (just a little, even though he kept telling himself that it shouldn't) that Harry Potter, the illegitimate, _younger_ champion, had gotten a better score than he. Cedric didn't dislike Harry, per se, but he was certainly a tad bit _miffed_ when it was announced for the first time that there would be _two_ Hogwarts Champions. He had tried not to act out on it, of course, but even if he didn't encourage the "Support Diggory!" badges… he didn't _dis_courage them…

But the boy had told him of the dragons… and he had looked just as green as Cedric when waiting in the tent before the first task. Cedric remembered Hermione Granger sneaking into the tent and him seeing the both of the fourth years share a hug of terror, concern, and friendship.

Glancing down at his shaking hands, he had been not a little envious. Where were his friends during all of this? Oh, yes, sitting in the stands with the vain belief that Cedric had this "in the bag."

But Granger had surprised him once again with her kind concern—though Cedric had unhappily noted that she looked closer to tears more then than ever he had seen her.

"Cedric," she had started carefully, panic and embarrassment warring in her eyes and across her cheeks and neck. He'd gulped and had not responded; his vocal chords had been caught in his own dread and, for the life of him, he couldn't return her acknowledgement.

"I-I… You need to—" Her own choke had cut her off.

She had blinked back tears and looked quickly to Potter who had been sitting with his head slumped in his hands. Her shoulders had straightened when she turned back to Cedric. He remembered them both hesitating when Dumbledore and the other heads had then chosen to enter the tent, signaling the beginning of the task.

"Please," she had gasped hurriedly, hands clenching and trembling, "please, be careful."

The pair had let their widened, panicked eyes connect for a long moment before he managed to force out, "O-_kay_." They both had trouble breathing and controlling themselves and their worry.

He'd watched as her eyes flickered back over the inhabitants of the tent, her gaze pausing on Fleur and Viktor most as she saw them—no doubt silently wishing them safety and luck. Hermione was a good girl with a warm heart. She had proved that much to him already.

She had looked back to him, nodded jerkily, and then dashed out of the tent, presumably, to her seat in the crowd.

Cedric had forced himself to breathe and knew that her plea to his caution would _definitely_ be heeded… He was brave, intelligent, and had the potential for heroics…

But he was no Gryffindor. No way in _hell_ would he _not_ be careful around such a beast as a dragon.

Even still, he had left the stadium a bit _singed_.

Ego deflated. Ego _in_flated as well, if you understand. It was a peculiar feeling, and Cedric had quite the time trying to explain it to Tom that morning.

_No, I __am__ disappointed in myself for letting my fear rule me like you said I shouldn't, _Cedric wrote (the password/symbol hassle from earlier forgotten with this new turn of discussion, thankfully). _But,_ he continued, _I'm still happy with my success. I mean, it was still a success despite it not being top-notch, you know?_

_**I believe I might understand what you say, **_Riddle informed. _**However, I think that you would do well to put in more effort and thought for the next task—this coming year's February, correct?**_

_The twenty-fourth, yes._

_**Mm. You have much time to deliberate your next strategy. Starting now would be a good idea, Cedric. What was it you said that you'll have to do?**_

Cedric sighed at the thought of strategizing right then. He really wanted to just have a day to embrace his "victory"; yesterday, he was still getting over the shock of making it (and the shock of being scorched so) when he was offered all his congratulations from housemates and the rest of the school. He had tried to thank Potter after the task in the medical tent for his help, but Pomfrey had kept a firm eye on him, telling him that it wouldn't do to be fussing about with such burns. She had been fluttering about him in a menace, and Cedric was actually made quite a bit nervous, even after facing the Swedish Short-Snout.

_Merlin! _He had faced a _dragon!_

Yes, he did need a day to himself, outside the tournament.

But Tom was still writing, pausing every now and then to give Cedric the time to interrupt him.

_**…it really must have been something, to see a Short-Snout so close… I hear that you can still find dragons with scars from attempts at illegal poaching… **__**Diggory, are you even with me anymore?**__** I've been prattling about the almost-extinction of your particular dragon during the 1870s for the past few minutes now. I'm even boring myself.**_

_Sorry, sorry Tom. It's just… I had a lot to think about for a minute._

_**I can imagine. This tournament is a big, big thing…**_

_Ha, don't I know it? _Actually, he really _didn't_ until two days ago. He knew it _now_, of course, and was quite certain that he wouldn't ignore its significance to him anymore.

Tom, thankfully, said nothing.

_Anyway, you know the egg I had to pick up? It's supposed to be a clue. Well, if I undo the hinges on the top, it comes apart. It's empty, but it makes the most blasted noise I've ever heard. I have no idea what the clue is supposed to mean—other than it being the off chance that I'll have to sacrifice my hearing for the next task, that is._

_**Hmm… **_ Tom ignored his joke, and Cedric shook his head. _**Can you describe this noise to me? And are there any markings on the egg at all? Including the inside?**_

Cedric frowned in thought. _Well, it's just an empty golden egg from what I've seen. I didn't really have the chance to look at the inside of it for very long—the screeching—_ Cedric halted and then scrambled. _Oh, yes, the screeching; well, it's just that. It sounds like this ungodly wail or shriek. Really high-pitched and loud. No discernable words or even language. Just… wailing, I guess._

_**Hmm. And where did you open it?**_

_I opened it yesterday a couple of hours after the task. I wanted to be sure that I opened it when I was alone in the dormitories, and that took quite a while._

_**Ha, I can imagine. So, how is it you think you're supposed to hear the message then? I'm assuming that's what it is. The egg itself may mean nothing—it was part of the lure from the dragon task, and I'm rather certain that it and the next task are unconnected; there has never been a tournament where the tasks are linked or similar as each is meant to test something different. However, we cannot **__**omit**__** the possibility of the egg—or the gold—as being a symbol of sorts. There has to be a way to hear the message…**_

_Tom… can we not talk about this now? I really want __this__ day to be tournament-free. I'm having a really good morning and don't want to ruin it._

Cedric was rather nervous as a trail of dots crossed the page.

_**…I feel that it is wisest for you to go over everything you have recently learned at once so as not to forget or overlook any certain thing. I may be able to pick up on something you brushed aside, or you may remember something that seems important in retrospect… It would be foolish to just push it all to the back of your mind.**_

Cedric ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. _I see your point, Tom, but I've already told you everything. If there was some hidden clue that I've missed, I've already told you about it._

_**…You're certain?**_

_Yes._

_** …well then, let us talk of something else. But, Cedric, for me?... don't forget the words that they've used, what has happened so far… please?**_

He was irritated, but he knew that Tom only asked for his own good.

_Yes, Tom, I'll remember. You're right; it could be important._

There was a minute where neither of them wrote. Tom broke the tension.

_**So, how is it that the others did, then?**_

Cedric scoff-sighed loudly, his hands tugging at the hair that dangled irritatingly on his forehead. This was Tom's way of not talking about the competition?!

_Tom, please!_

_**Oh, very well. I just was wondering if you had an ally of sorts—if that other little boy from Hogwarts succeeded, namely. It makes me curious, how his name managed to come out of the cup. Even more curious, how he would be allowed in the competition. Obviously, he must have cheated; he is too, too young.**_

Cedric squirmed uncomfortably. He had thought all of those things too, once, and he didn't know quite how to respond. He certainly couldn't blame Tom for his train of thought—Potter's guiltiness did seem quite the obvious outcome when one looked at it reasonably. But—

_I know that you say the things you say rationally, Tom, but… I don't think that he cheated. I don't think that he __truly__ wants to be in this competition. Not after I've talked to him. And, he helped me, Tom, by telling me about the dragons. He can't be all bad if he told me—he can't be cheating and trying to win if he told me something that could help me beat him._

Couldn't he? Cedric still had doubts, though he did feel badly about questioning the boy that had helped him so much.

_**Cedric, Cedric… **_Cedric didn't appreciate the patronizing quality he felt from Tom's words. _**You must know that he—this Harry Potter?—has every reason to help you if it could help himself in the end. Did you not think of that? After all, you **__**are**__** the other Hogwarts Champion; he would pick you out of the Veela and the Bulgarian to aid him. You are the most logical choice when it comes to manipulation.**_

Cedric definitely did not sit well with that. He was a little disgruntled by Tom's casual, dismissive descriptions of Fleur and Viktor—as if they were unimportant as witch and wizard (he was almost cruel). And he was not a little concerned over Tom's statements of his trust in Harry. Of course he had thought the very same things, sick as he felt afterward, but he was most positive that the boy would not do him, or anyone, harm, that he didn't even want to be in the tournament anyway.

Cedric believed Harry Potter when he said that he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

However, the more logical part of him reminded him that it wasn't just a trick of luck that had the fateful parchment—the one with Harry's name on it—spit out of the flame. Something was up, and damn the world if he didn't have time or patience enough to figure out what. It was a troublesome thing, trying to trust Potter…

…But, for some reason, Cedric felt all the better for it.

_I have thought of that, Tom. But I think I will trust him, even if you deem it foolish._

Tom did not respond immediately. Cedric continued to reassure him.

_Don't worry though—I won't be sharing secrets or strategies or anything like that. I'll just… stop doubting… his integrity, or something like that. I think he's a good _(boy? man? Gryffindor?) _chap._

_ Chap?_ Why didn't he just grow a mustache and have a few cigars by the fire with a sharp dog named Kensington sitting at his heels?

Cedric shook his head quickly, clearing it of the (somewhat amusing) muck that clouded any reason he had. He frowned over Tom's responding words.

_**I do hope you know what you're doing, Mr. Diggory. **_Cedric knew that Tom was either admonishing him or worrying over him when he referred to him by such title. He wasn't sure which Tom was doing at the moment.

Cedric decided to level with him—it was the least he could do for the man in the book. Besides, it might help to get all of his ideas about the boy out of his head, to make them stop ruminating in doubt.

_In the past, the boy was in… quite a lot of slip-ups. By that, I mean that he and his friends—a Weasley and the Granger girl I've told you about—were in constant trouble. Well, not trouble, necessarily… but there were a lot of rumors. Whenever something big or strange happened, those three were the ones behind it. _Cedric bit the inside of his cheek in thought. _Like… the year when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened._

Cedric thought back to the year even before that one, his third year at Hogwarts. He knew that there had been a lot of rumors too, then, about Quirrell's disappearance at the end of the year, and he had even heard mutterings about _the _Philosopher's Stone. That event he didn't know much about, but…

_**Cedric? What about the chamber?**_

Cedric blinked in surprise, realizing he hadn't carried on with his story—and feeling a bit guilty for it. Inking his quill, he stopped to read Tom's new words.

_**You've intrigued me, now.**_

Cedric chuckled and wrote, _Well, there was a lot of speculation—more accusation and the like—that Harry Potter had been the one to do it; that he was the heir of Slytherin. _He frowned, thinking over the logic behind the accusation, even though he, too, believed it at the time (he distinctly remembered a moment where he had seen the boy—two years younger than him!—walking down the hallway; Cedric had about-faced and walked off in the other direction, causing him to be late for a transfiguration class; he wondered if McGonagall had ever forgotten that). _It's actually quite silly, now that I think about it. I mean, the heir of Slytherin, opener of the chamber, __best__ friend of a Muggleborn witch and in __Gryffindor__, of all houses! It's almost laughable in retrospect. I must not have been a very clever child, _he joked, _and, apparently, neither was anyone else in Hogwarts!_

_**I'm sure you were quite the clever child. And, let me guess, you apologized to him at the end of the year for behaving uncouthly around him, which I'm sure you must have (and that was not an insult, merely an assumption).**_

Cedric nodded, even though Tom couldn't see it; he understood the man's reasoning this time and couldn't begrudge him for it. People were people, and Tom understood that. He thought that Tom might've begun to help him learn that too.

_Actually, no, I never did. _And now Cedric felt sicker with guilt than ever. A request for forgiveness and the like… well, it had just never come up! He had to remedy that fact, even if the apology came two years too late and in not very good circumstance. _But, I never acted __too__ coldly toward him, you must understand. I didn't want the heir __angry__ with me, after all! _It was a joke, but Tom didn't write anything; Cedric thought that he must not have known that he was waiting for a response. He just continued. _However, I did tell certain members of my house not to associate with him—I never encouraged name-calling or gossip or whatnot. Though, a member of my house did, in fact, become petrified. _Cedric frowned. _That must have been what truly set me against him that year, made me not trust him._

_ At the end of the year, when his name had been cleared, I think I remember feeling a bit foolish, but… I was never exactly guilt-filled, or at least not memorably… I wonder why? _And he _did_ wonder why… Perhaps he never… _truly_ forgave Harry for his (false) wrongdoings. Perhaps… he deluded himself into thinking that Harry somehow knew that those who were his accusers now bowed their heads in embarrassment.

And then, Cedric thought particularly hard.

Why was it that he had never known who the opener of the chamber was? Who it was that had been linked back and back to Salazaar Slytherin?

_And… I wonder what __did__ happen to the real heir… _

_**Hmm… there are some things that we just will never know. **_Tom speculated. _**However, I am now a bit irritated that you have brought up an interesting story with so little conclusion.**_

_So sorry, Tom._

_**I am shaking my head at you right now.**_

Cedric laughed loudly, momentary ponderings forgotten.

_And I am chuckling heartily._

There was a sharp knock on the door before a blonde, bespectacled young man stuck his head in, grinning ear to ear.

"Hey'a Cedric! You're missing out. Sprout's gone and supplied the whole house with that giddy-draught from those salahynths she's been growing! There's not much left, and I don't know how long I can hold up the line for you without you there."

Cedric calmly closed the book (he'd learned since that last time with Granger) and smiled. "Thanks Will. I've just got to finish this up and I'll be right down."

Will's eyes twinkled with amusement. "God, Ced, you've been up here for hours now! Surely your essay can't stand much more perfecting—say, do you want me to bring up some of the draught here for you? She's added some honey this time, and it's damn delicious."

"Uh," Cedric began, trying to will his friend back down the stairs (without seeming rude, of course), "I think I'll be down in just a few minutes. Ten tops, promise. I just really need to finish this." He gestured his head toward the oak desk next to his bed, the wood covered with papers, books, and quills. There wasn't anything in particular that he appeared to be working on, and he noticed this just a moment too late—

"Hey, Ced, that a _diary_?"

Cedric blinked awkwardly. "No!"

Will grinned wickedly. "Why, it _is!_" He winked conspiratorially. "Promise, Ced, I won't say a thing about it. But, honestly, you may want to put it someplace where no one who _will_ can find it."

In all actuality, Cedric probably would not have been embarrassed at the act of keeping a diary. However, he knew enough to keep up his façade, even if it meant his continuing of the teenage-male's mortification at doing something so "_feminine_." Really, it was as if keeping a journal was as girlish as donning heels and powder!

But, somewhere inside of him, Cedric wondered as to why he felt so frightened of discovery. He wouldn't be fearful of being _caught_ if he wasn't doing anything _wrong_, now would he? It wasn't wrong to keep secrets, but—he glanced at the diary and then at the dormitory door as it swung shut after Will's exit—why did keeping _this _secret seem so… _dangerous_?

He trusted Tom's word. More than he trusted himself, it seemed.

And, when Cedric told Tom later that evening that he had decided to hide the diary, Tom was pleased.

* * *

_**A.N. **So, this is going to be a full-out, multi-chaptered story. It might not be most people's cup of tea, but stick it out with me. Something I thought was really cool about this story was that it originally written for the lovely Harry Potter Big Bang contest of 2009 (I was only recently allowed to publish it due to contest restrictions). The whole thing was a blast, and I was privileged enough to work with some very amazing people. I think everyone should go and check out the page (link coming to my profile soon), if not to appreciate some awesome fan creations, at least to see the lovely artist I was able to work with over at LiveJournal, nicccc._

_And... that's a wrap! Reviewing is just as perfect as reading, so I encourage you to do so. Thanks much, everyone!_


	2. Part 4

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary: **Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can _really_ help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

_**Why is it that curses frighten you, Cedric?**_

_Well… take a look at the things we eat. Think of… lobster. It's an ugly, ugly creature, and certainly an ugly, ugly dish. Note how it lives: it is a bottom-feeder, it pinches when distressed, its hard shell is quite difficult to break through—not to mention that it's __extremely__ ugly! But someone, somewhere, fished it up one day and thought, "You know, I could eat this…"_

_**...**_

_** …While I must admit that that was amusing, I also must say that I am lost…**_

_The point is… It's all well and good to have knowledge of curses, know what they do and… know why we should avoid using them against others. But a Killing Curse? A curse specifically used for __torturing__ people? Ones where you can take all the fight and free will out of a person? And it's not just the Unforgivables! I've read of curses designed to make the victims' appendages freeze slowly until they break. I've heard of magic that makes its targets relive their worst fears for the rest of their lives. I've heard of one spell that gives me nightmares still!... It replicates the water in your body until you drown, from the __inside__… They're all so horrible… And I'm sure that there are others that I don't wish to know of, that I, hopefully, never will… But the effects aren't the things that scare me most… No, I'm most frightened of whatever witch or wizard it was that picked up their wand and thought, "You know, I could make this…"_

Cedric clamped his eyes shut, trying to stop the chilling stir that riffled up his spine. His stomach twisted and his arms and legs trembled. How was it that the wizarding world never thought of these things? How was it that these curses were still being used?

…Are the names of those who created these curses written somewhere? In some dark tome, do the names of those who haunt him list themselves on endless sheets of parchment?

How could people just forget? How could this history of curses be so blasé that even those around him didn't question it? He was taught what they were, what using them meant, why he shouldn't use them…

Why wasn't he taught how important it was to not create more?

_**Cedric…**_ Riddle's response was careful, cautious. _**Cedric, I've never thought of that before. It is quite something to think over. **_Cedric scoffed half-heartedly, still trying to shake off his tremors from before.

_**Tell me… and do not be offended…**_

_** Are you upset… because **__**you**__** have made such a curse? Or that, if you study further with the dark arts… you believe that you will?**_

Cedric gripped his quill firmly. His arm did not quake this time, and his answer was certain.

_No. Never have I created such a spell, nor will I ever. Humanity means something to me, and I never want to have a hand in damaging it._

The diary seemed warmer to the touch as he drifted his fingers over his response. He was quite pleased with it and had a feeling that he would always be just a bit proud of this statement. He had every intention of maintaining that honesty and that commitment for as far ahead as he could even imagine his future. He liked to think that it was his calling, of sorts.

_**I am curious, then… how is it that you became so preoccupied with your musings?**_

Cedric actually managed to chuckle at the irony. _How else? I studied shields._

Cedric Diggory: humanitarian protector, activist for wizarding peace and for the safety of all.

He quite liked that thought.

If he were honest with himself, the title was just a bit inspired by the modern-day muggles. Just a bit.

Tom went on without his attention.

_**Now that is intriguing, Cedric. Tell me, have you read **__**Sheeld Magick**__**? It's a very poorly translated text from Bosnia, of all places, but that region happens to be a leader in recent endeavors into sustained shielding—it maintained that shortly after the assassination, you must understand. The region holds the title of aggressor for the conflict, that much is true, but it is **__**astonishing**__** how many preemptive attempts at shielding were made before the Serbs—**_

_ Hold! What are you referring to, Tom? _It was quite _astonishing_ to Cedric how quickly the diary could get away with him.

_**The Archduke, of course. The Serbian magical community led an underground foray into shield experiments before the onset of the Great War. Texts like **__**Sheeld Magick**__** and other lesser titles such as **__**Finite Defenses**__** and **__**Art of Sheeld: Making Safe**__** (horrible translations, I know) aroused from these efforts. I imagine that they—the wizards, of course—knew of the consequences of the first real European war since Napoleon, what with the new weaponry and political tensions, and had begun to prepare themselves...**_

Cedric shook his head in a vague sense of disbelief.

By Tom's next response, Cedric wondered, as he had at times, whether or not the diary could, in fact, _see_ him... or at least read into his thoughts...

**...**_**It's World War I, Cedric, really! Children should be well informed of their history, for it explains **__**far too many things**__**to be ignored so heinously.**_

Cedric cooled a bit at being referred to as a child, though he could somewhat understand Tom's frustration in constantly having to explain himself. He did seem quite the scholar, making Cedric feel foolish in ignorance as often as he felt proud during the conversations in which he could actually keep up. Cedric briefly wondered how much schooling Tom had completed after Hogwarts...

_I'm sorry, Tom. I'm just imagining all of the discussions I'll be able to have with you in the future. It's like you're your own reference source. It's incredible!_

_**Be that as it may, **_Tom wrote, slightly mollified, _**you must keep on top of your learning. How else do you expect to live as a good and helpful citizen?**_

_Ah! _Cedric grinned and wrote back. _Just making sure I'm serving as a constructive member of society, are you? I didn't know you cared so much, Tom..._

_**Ha ha, **_came Tom's reply, _**you are just the comedian today, aren't you Cedric?**_

_I didn't know I was entertaining you so well, Tom._

_**Well, it's not as if I have many other stimulating conversationalists with which to pass the time, Mr. Diggory...**_

Cedric frowned. _Now who's the comedian?_ The response was ambiguous enough, but Cedric did come away from Tom's peculiarly nasty jibe feeling just a bit—

_**Oh, to hell with it, Cedric. I've just realized how horribly that last comment could've come across. Do forgive a diary lacking in proper inflection, will you?**_

Cedric reluctantly chuckled. It was decided: Tom _could_ read his thoughts.

_Are you flattering yourself into thinking that I could have been __hurt__ by your careless ramblings, Mr. Riddle? _Cedric joked.

_**Hmm... Fine. I'm not sorry. Go fuck yourself.**_

Cedric's eyes widened in shock before he burst into surprised, _loud_ laughter.

_I'm so appalled! Delicate ears present!_

_**Delicate **__**eyes**__**, you mean...**_

Cedric laughed again ruefully, but still with just the right amount of mirth. _These delicate eyes have to retire themselves for now, Mr. Riddle. After having been so grossly offended, they need a bit of a break before afternoon classes begin._

_**You've managed to have a thirty minute conversation with me during your lunch hour? **_Cedric liked to think that Tom was vaguely impressed.

_I eat fast._

_**Well, don't choke... You **__**are**__** in your dormitory, correct?**_

Cedric sighed, becoming used to—but not quite happy—with Tom's perpetual suspicion. _Yes, of course, Tom. I wouldn't betray your trust like that. I know that you don't want anyone to know of us..._

_**And **__**I**__** know that is difficult to trust someone you can't see. For that, I admire your generosity. You have far more warmth than anyone I have met.**_

Cedric blushed at the compliment. _First you tell me to piss off, next you admire me. Ah, the Mercurial Mr. Riddle is at it again..._

_**Oh, quit dodging, you ninny. And, for the record, I told you to **__**go fuck yourself**__**. Just accept my accolades like a good boy and get to class. If you have Charms today, I hope you'll ask Flitwick about those books. He'll probably know better than Moody of Bosnian history as he lived through much of it...**_

_Well, the shields are more of a side-project endeavor. I've not actually done coursework with them, per se... And Moody does seem to be helpful—_

_**But **__**not**__** in history, Cedric. From what you've told me, he seems a brilliant loon.**_

_Well— _Cedric defended. Then he stopped and wondered why he was bothering. _—Well, yes, I suppose... But I'm sure he's misunderstood on some level..._

_**Aren't the lunatics always written off as misunderstood?**_

_Well, yes..._

Cedric glanced at the clock at his bedside and gave a start.

_Damn! I'm going to be late for DADA! I'll have to finish this conversation later, Tom._

_**We'll**__** finish later, **_he corrected. _**And try to hurry back. Free time is something I don't need more of, I'm afraid.**_

_Yes, will do. _Cedric wrote his farewell messily, one hand darting over the page, the other pushing himself off the bed and packing up his bag. _We'll talk later tonight, promise._

_**...At this rate, you'll have to leg it. Go—NOW!**_

As Cedric tapped his wand on a slat of the bed, creating an opening just big enough for a small picture frame—or perhaps a book—Tom's last words faded from the page.

_**Ta for now, Mr. Diggory.**_

Cedric slid the diary home before tapping once again and letting his bedsheet fall over the side of the wooden frame. He hurried out of the sixth-year dormitories, flitting down the stairs and even taking a few of them at a time. Following this, there were many long, quick strides toward the classroom.

Tom was right: he _did _have to leg it.

And he was just in time, too, to run into a Miss Hermione Granger muttering darkly under her breath as she ripped down poster after poster of his figure with a flaming head. They were all pasted on the wall in a corner, nothing spanning the brick for any great length, but the details of a fire-enveloped Cedric Diggory were quite apparent.

"Well, they certainly got my features well captured, don't you think?"

It was a joke, but, as what was becoming the usual in the past few days, he felt vulnerable, perhaps hurt. He thought that maybe he shouldn't have spoken at all as Hermione whipped around, first panicked and then shamefaced. Then some combination of pitying and embarrassed took over.

"They—they're not—" she stuttered—as he guessed she normally did when trying to story-tell.

"They're of me with my head on fire. There's not a whole lot to misinterpret, Hermione."

"I—well _I _didn't draw them! I'm trying to take them down—"

"What? To protect Potter?" He pointed to the figure that was roasting marshmallows over Cedric's hair in the picture, lightning-bolt scar quite easily seen.

"_No! _He doesn't like them either. He _better_ not be encouraging this—"

"Is this you being a team player again or something?" Even he thought he sounded cruel. "Making sure everyone is fair and fighting cleanly, are you?"

Hermione drew back. "No," she said quietly enough that he began to feel worse than he already did, guilt adding to the anger and mortification. She bucked up then. "_No_. Believe it or not, Diggory, I was doing it because I didn't want you to see them."

"So I wouldn't send my friends after him?" As if he would _ever!_

Her eyes narrowed, and, no longer cowering at his poor attitude, she began to rebuke him instead. "So you wouldn't _see_ them, that's why! Because, whether or not you care, Harry _was indeed_ hurt by the buttons. He acted like he wasn't, he ignored them when he could, but they bothered him. Not because they made him angry, but because they were _hurtful_. These—" she gestured to the now mostly down posters, "—were retaliation and arrogance talking. Harry didn't make them, I'll admit that another Gryffindor did, and the twins already didn't like you very much from last year, but this is just mean, and..." She paused to look at him, seemingly losing some of her own fire. "And I knew that they could—would be hurtful to you if you saw them..."

Cedric sighed and forced himself to look at her. "Like the buttons were to Harry?"

She nodded. "Like the buttons were to Harry."

He took a breath, steeling himself before breaking down a little. "I'm—I'm sorry." He shrugged a little helplessly. "I know that I was just in the wrong here. I know that you wouldn't do that, that you aren't spreading these. And..." He gulped. "And I believe that Harry isn't either. I'm sorry."

Hermione wasn't able to skirt around the awkwardness very gracefully. She chewed her pink lip thoughtfully before trying to smile at him. It didn't really work. "It's okay, I think. Maybe help me take them down?"

So they worked together to get rid of the Cedric-effacing posters, Banishing the "joking" papers in tandem until the wall was again clean.

He was beyond late for class, had gathered that she was too, and he thought to stay behind for some conversation to relax the tension between acquaintances. "So, the Gryffindors have it out for me, huh?"

Hermione blew out a gust of air. "Not all of them," she murmured rather waspishly, her brow clearing as she continued. "Not _all_ the Gryffindors, Cedric. Like I said, retaliation and arrogance talking, not any _real_ dislike."

"You think?" he asked, turning straight on to her.

Hermione may have hesitated before nodding, but he let it go.

"Damn those buttons," he tried conversationally, but all she did was nod again. "You know, I never encouraged them, Hermione."

Her big brown eyes met his. "Did you tell them to stop wearing them, then?"

And how could he lie to a face as open as that?

"..."

Cedric scratched the area between his shoulder and his neck and looked away.

She made a quiet "Hmm," of disapproval. Cedric blushed.

Building up his confidence, he turned to look at her. She seemed to wait for him to lean forward and to widen his eyes in sincerity before he announced that he would, indeed, start dissuading people of his house—and those out of his house, too—to stop targeting Harry with pro-Cedric propaganda.

"So the Gryffindors don't make anti-Cedric propaganda?" she asked with just a hint of disappointment.

"No. No, I..." He looked at some of the posters Hermione had already tossed to the ground that they had yet to get rid of. "I kind of deserve this, I think."

Hermione looked up at him, perplexed, that pink lip between her teeth again.

Cedric tried to convey honesty as best he could, knowing how much he wanted to win her trust... though he didn't know _why_ he wanted to win her trust...

He leaned in further, back concave and head dipped low. "Just between us... I've been a right git about this so far."

She swallowed and blinked a lot again, reminding him of the library. He wondered about the responses she was thinking of that wouldn't escape her head—and by the time it took her to speak again, there must have been a few she'd had to choose from. He just knew, somehow, that she blinked unconsciously when her mind was turning.

"Um... how?"

Well... that was less... tactful than what he had expected.

Her lack of grace was followed by his just-as-bumbling stutters: "Well, a-about... everything? I suppose?..." She blinked up at him again, this time slowly and skeptically. Her right eyebrow raised, and she waited for him to elaborate. Again.

"What I mean is... I've been... so blind. To everything in this tournament. And facing a dragon... I don't know if I could have received a more effective wake-up call than that."

Her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay, Cedric? You don't have to worry—you have to focus." She smiled, brighter than Cedric expected. "The friends do the worrying. Well, sometimes they do the focusing too, but that's mainly your job."

"My friends don't do the worrying. Or the focusing. They do the basking."

"Basking. In what? Your glory?"

He was a bit miffed at her disgust.

"Basking in something, at least. Hufflepuff pride, maybe?"

She "Hmm"-ed again.

"Well..." he began, "now you know that I've been a git. A lot. I'm sorry."

He was surprised at her surprise. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Uh... I don't really know, I guess. I just kinda feel guilty all around. Feel like I should wear a sign that says 'This Git Is Humbled And Sorry' or something."

"_Humbled_... so you're sorry for being... too confident?"

"Arrogant, you mean? Vainly, stupidly arrogant? Yes, I—"

"_Cedric_, you weren't _arrogant!_ You were never mean to Harry, you never asserted _yourself_ as _the_ Hogwarts Champion... In all, I thought you handled Harry's... _insertion_ quite... gracefully."

He pondered and blushed and pondered some more. After the pink cheeks and self-reflection, he ended up shaking his head in response. "No, I feel as if I was wrong for... acting like I was... I did ignore the badges, I did enjoy the attention, I liked feeling... elite and _chosen_... I was a prick—Sorry!" She had flinched at his crass remark. "But, really, I _was—_you know—a... that..."

She looked up at him and wetted her pink mouth in contemplation. "Cedric, you can't feel guilty for being proud—"

"_Arrogant._"

"—_Proud..._ And you should still be proud of yourself. What you've done is incredible, and you'll do _more_ incredible things to come. Maybe just don't let it get to your head this time?..." She trailed off uncertainly as if she realized that her statement could have offended him.

He shook his head and smiled, albeit sadly and ironically. "Remember what I've said, Hermione? The only thing in my head now goes something along the lines of, '_Cedric! You LOON! THERE'S NO WAY YOU CAN DO THIS!_'"

The Gryffindor settled her hands on her hips and announced quite bossily: "Stop being so negative. You have people who will support and help you, make you see what _potential_ you have, make you see that you _can_ be the TriWizard Champion!"

His hopeless rebuttal was quick after hers: "No, you don't understand! My friends... they don't _get_ it. They don't see that I struggled—am struggling. They don't see that I'm... kind of lost."

Cedric heard her mumble something, something that he was honestly convinced could _not_ be the exclamation of "_Boys!_"

"Well..." she continued, "are you sure that you maybe haven't told... them... that you're having doubts and maybe need help?..."

He shook his head resolutely. "No, they just wouldn't get it."

"I believe that friends 'get' more than the people who have them give credit for," she said quite haughtily.

"Not—not these friends. They... they just wouldn't."

"Hmm." He was getting quite irritated with that. "I think you should try to be more... open with your friends. I _do_ think that... at least one of them will understand."

Cedric sampled a tiny bit of the mortification he would feel once all his bravado-ized walls were collapsed. They knew him since he was young, but... this year, it felt like _nobody _really knew him... Tom would probably be his closest confidant right now... What a realization...

"I'll think about telling them."

She "Hmm"-ed, this time happily, and smiled again. "See? Not so hard to even _consider _it, is it?"

"But I still have no idea what to do to prepare now." Apparently, he insisted on being a downer in their conversation. "And I _know_ none of them will help me research outside of class."

There was a brief silence. He realized that he had maybe just hinted to Hermione that—

"I can. I can help you... research."

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to..." He witnessed a bit guiltily that she started to deflate at his refusal for her help. "I mean, Hermione, that I wasn't trying to... con you into anything... If you don't want to, you don't have to. I'm not going to guilt you into anything, I promise."

She huffed and said, "Well, _I'm_ going to be doing my own research to help _Harry_, so _I'll _be in the library _anyway_, doing the same thing..."

Cedric was admittedly baffled. "You... you _want_ to help?"

She looked insulted at his skepticism, but, really, he'd never thought that she would...

"_Cedric_," she said, just a _bit _condescendingly. The she brightened and became the cutest little shy Gryffindor with frizzy hair that he had ever seen. "I _always_ want to help."

Hermione Granger was really something. Cedric blushed, quite happily.

* * *

_**A.N. **So... it's been a bit... But, I've got an update and (supposedly) an outline. Summer's running out, I'm still without a beta, but... I'd love to trek on, if I can. Any help on this front would be awesome. Also, I've started an experiment of sorts called "Ten Seconds With Tom." Go to my LiveJournal account and take a lookie, if you want. I think I'll be posting those "promos" up the week before an update just to maybe get some juices flowing. Tell me if it sucks or not, okay? Anyway, I know I've been kinda crappy with the whole actually-finishing-the-story thing, but I'd like to try... And I'd love even more to get some support. I haven't abandoned this baby yet (contrary to what some might believe), and it's got potential (to me at least), so I'm gonna keep it rolling in for us. Show some love with some lovely reviews. Thanks much!_


	3. Part 5

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*****, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(***** denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary:** Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can really help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

They were in Herbology when they got the news. Professor Sprout interrupted their "Trellisment of Noxious Vine Plants" lab with the announcement:

"There will, in honor of the Triwizard Tournament, be a Yule Ball held over this Christmas break at Hogwarts."

There was a flurry of quiet excitement. As she continued to elaborate on age groups and the necessity of signing up to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Cedric's friends immediately began whispering.

"Over the hol's? Fey is sure to want me to stay for that—"

"—a ball? _Dancing?_ Someone's sure to embarrass themselves—"

"—wonder who they'll be bringing in for music? I've been listening to the Wireless lately, but there haven't been any announcements as to—"

"Us single men are gonna have to go prowling. What do you say, Ced?"

The conversation seemed to freeze right then. Partially because Sprout resumed her lesson with the utmost disregard for the Yuletide excitement, but he felt the halt was also partially due to their waiting for his response.

"Uh—I guess."

The words had barely left Cedric's mouth before high-fives and mischievous chuckling were offered.

_**Well damn. You aren't going to become absorbed in this, are you?**_

Cedric frowned. _What do you mean, "absorbed?"_

_**I mean that you aren't going to go round chasing girls only to become distracted and useless.**_

Tom did not seem particularly open to discussion of dates and dances, it seemed.

_Well, Tom, I don't think I have to ask on __your__ opinion of the Yule Ball, now do I?_

_**There is no problem with... **__**companionship**__**, Mr. Diggory. **_Cedric's insides writhed a bit at the direction this conversation was seemingly headed. _**It's just that a man has more to focus on than the dotings of the fairer sex. Wouldn't you agree?**_

Cedric was a bit shocked at Tom's... _agedness_ in this situation. His words bordered on the shy side of sexism, and, though he knew Tom to be capable of uncouth frankness, his turn of phrase raised a bit of uncertainty in Cedric.

_Well..._ Cedric began carefully. _I don't plan on becoming enamored over a dance on Christmas, but I thought it would amuse you that I must find a partner as Champion._

_**Amusing or not, you cannot **__**afford**__** to become enamored. This year must be free of **__**distractions,**__** Cedric. Nothing has ruined more men of history than a dame.**_

Cedric's frown grew more pronounced.

_ I'm sorry, Tom. I don't know what time you are from, but in my decade, we refer to women with respect._

But Cedric didn't actually write that. Instead, he replied, _Don't become too worried, Tom. I can assure you that I will not become distracted—not after the First Task and the madness surrounding it._

_**Good.**_

For a long time, Cedric thought that "_Good_" was all Tom was going to write.

_**And **__**have**__** you been researching on your next task?**_

Cedric was about to point out that he had until late February—

_**You only have until late February, Cedric. I expect a fully operable **__**plan**__** in place by the end of January. That will leave a solid few weeks of practice for you to perfect your spells—and I'm talking wandwork, pronunciation, even inaudible casting.**_

_But Tom_, Cedric interrupted in exasperation. He was getting tired of this constant pushing, though he knew both that it was exactly what he needed and that which he had never before received—

_**Did you or did you not ask me to coach you? Help you as I saw fit? You think I'm pushing you because **__**my**__** well-being depends upon it?**_

Cedric was so done. He felt guilt, but with it came the anger and frustration that seemed to be always building. Of course, he wouldn't let it out, he never would. But he was just so stressed, and the more he relied on Tom, the more agitated he seemed to become. There was a release in pouring himself into the diary, but with that release came a consequential... anxiety. Lately, there were moments when that anxiety would flash into hysteria, and Tom would talk him out of his temperament slowly. He found himself coaxed out of more poor attitudes than ever before, and he was questioning whether or not he really even _wanted _to complete this tournament anymore.

_**Cedric... You have to know that I want what is best for you. And what I see as best for you is for you to be as prepared and focused as possible.**_

_Tom. I don't feel focused when you pressure me like that. Now, I don't think that I want a __distraction__... But I could certainly use a break._

Cedric waited, breath held tight in his chest as he allowed Tom to absorb his words. Tom didn't reply, seemingly waiting.

_Now... Is there __anything__ else we could possibly talk about that __doesn't__ include the tournament?_

There was a pause, and Cedric hoped that Tom would just... back down. Just for now.

_**Sheeld Magick**__**. How is it coming along?**_

Cedric let out a breath and a smile.

_Thank you, Tom._

"Thank you, Hermione!"

Brown eyes flashed with happiness—maybe a bit of satisfaction at being appreciated?—before she slipped back in the seat across from him and shuffled through her notes once more.

"That book was on loan for the longest time—a Ravenclaw who kept forgetting to return it. I only thought to check on it when you mentioned the obscurity of the dialect—"

"I don't think screeching directly applies to any known dialects, Hermione."

"Well, it's not as if they would make you face anything that cannot be learned about, is it? My reasoning is that, if you face it, you will have been able to educate yourself about it within your surroundings."

She was always skipping over his little jokes. It was somewhat irritating. Or it would be if her genuine focus wasn't so pleasing to have shared with him. She was a brilliant witch.

"_Obscure Languages of Wizarding Europe_ was the book I was _supposed_ to use as a main reference for one of my History of Magic essays regarding Goblin communications during the second rebellion. It would have been an effective source for a just as effective essay if it _weren't_ for a so-called OWL student whose sense of responsibility and respect toward the library policy were both so lacking that the deadline for the essay passed before the book was returned!"

Cedric blinked.

A _scary_, brilliant witch...

"That's too bad."

"I _know! _I mean, _really! _It would have at least been polite to speak to the other students on the waiting list about the extended need for the text. It's what _any_ decent person would have done!"

"How many people were on the waiting list?"

"Well, I was."

Cedric waited—and then stopped waiting when he saw that the list apparently comprised only of an irate Hermione Granger.

"Oh. Well... shame on that student, I guess."

Hermione looked at Cedric a bit bashfully in realization, which Cedric thought odd considering that only _now_ had she behaved _any bit_ bashfully.

"I've just veered completely off-topic, haven't I?"

_That's_ what she was bashful about?

Cedric smiled, awkwardly charming. "Well, I love to listen?"

She cringed at herself, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry! I just get so preoccupied that—"

"No, no! It's lovely that you're so passionate!"

She frowned. "Ron tells me it's exhausting."

Cedric considered this. He didn't want her feeling badly of herself, not when she seemed so sweet. "Ronald Weasley?" She nodded. "Well, perhaps Ronald isn't the listening type."

Hermione bit at her pink lip again. "You know... it may be hard to believe, but _I _like to listen too. I don't... just talk all the time, I promise!"

A bit confused, Cedric was quick to assure her. "It would be fine if all you _did_ do was talk all the time, Hermione. You're intelligent and have such an eloquence... it's _nice_ to listen to you... _I _promise..."

He smiled, and _she_ blushed.

"Thank you," she squeaked. "I just... if _you_ need to talk, I want you to know that I can be quiet long enough. That is, if you're still not feeling comfortable talking with your friends..."

Cedric blinked. "Well, thanks... I mean, I haven't really tried talking with them yet like you want me to..." He could see her disapproval in her pursed forehead. He was quick to explain, "But I guess I'm still coming to terms with everything. It may take a bit. But that's alright?"

He wasn't really certain what "coming to terms" meant, though he did feel it was an apt description.

She leaned in to whisper. Why did she always have to look so genuine when concerned? "Are you still so overwhelmed?"

Cedric's forehead scrunched in consideration, and he let out a deep breath. "I—" he began, stopping to rub his shoulder in nervousness. "I feel... stressed. But, I know I'm supposed to be stressed?"

"Hmm..."

There was a pause, and she looked down, staring at her books but not really seeing—_thinking. _She bit her lip as she thoughtfully began packing up her books. He studied her, really studied her. Her movements were halted and slow, like she was uncertain of herself, but still done with enough grace that he could tell she was determined. She made quick work of her reference lists, study sheets, and only almost spilled an ink pot twice. She didn't look at him as she began to speak.

"Well, Cedric, I think I know how you feel. And I think I have a... remedy of sorts."

He didn't respond, surprised and waiting.

"We—we go outside to study."

"Oh."

Slowly, he began putting away his own texts. She continued to defend her suggestion.

"I mean, I know we won't be able to cross-reference information with as many textbooks, but we can at least rule out what _isn't_ going to be the mystery language, and that would be _quite_ the proper first step—"

"Well, let's get moving, Hermione."

She looked up at him, startled by how quickly he was ready and how closely he was standing.

"O-okay."

It was a lovely day outside.

And when they came in later, laughing (Cedric, mostly) about how dried up yellow-butter leaves had stuck in Hermione's mane (he called it a mane, but she did not become upset because he obviously did not use the term in malice) when she tried to lay down on the cooling ground near the edge of the Black Lake, their faces were flush from the crispness of the air and the ripeness of their giggles—though Cedric was, most assuredly right now, _snickering_, the cruel truth of which antagonizing the still tree-haired Miss Granger. They hadn't come exceedingly far with their research, but that wasn't the point of going out. He was honestly shocked by how much Hermione had tread from the task for most of their outing, though most of his surprise came woven with the gratitude that sprung up from realizing that she really only meant to cheer him up. As she told him in one of their (brief) lulls into serious study, "We'll have to do further research in the library, of course. And tomorrow isn't too soon, either, Cedric."

She was so _snooty_. Rather like Tom.

But then she wasn't. If Cedric had learned anything this year, it was that he could do well with someone telling him what to do. Hermione was bossy, and, while she could be smug with her own intelligence and success, it was the success of others that she relished in most. He could tell that when they talked of Harry, of her complete awe and pride when she explained of the brilliance of his Summoning charm that allowed him to take advantage of his best skill—flight.

He was not a little jealous.

"And the transfiguration you performed, Cedric—beautiful! I could tell how proud McGonagall was. And Dumbledore. It was amazing, and I hope you can rely on your talent in that for the rest of the tournament.

Red and fumbling, he thanked her for her generous speculation.

But she didn't brag, boast, or bore. She was constantly praising someone. And he was lucky to hear her breakdown, analyze each player's strategy and strengths—even if he might try to use it to trump Potter later. He wasn't one for reading people, not in the least. He just knew how to be pleasant to them, get them to respond well. He guessed that maybe a bit of reading did have to go into charm, but most of it was unconscious. There was no _deliberate_ mental extension occurring for the most part.

Hermione, on the other hand, was _exceptionally _deliberate. She detailed every inch of every competitor's dealings with the dragon to him—including his own. She didn't even hold back in explanation of Harry's! He figured out, later on, that she expected him to be fair with the information—or rather, that she never guessed he would try to use it underhandedly. Perhaps she put a good amount of trust in him. But he wondered if maybe she just expected everyone to behave as kindly as she would, even if behaving as such wouldn't draw the greatest benefits for them.

Cedric had never thought himself particularly deceptive—prided himself in his honesty, actually—so this realization was especially tender, and he respected her so much more as a young witch because of it.

As said before—Hermione Granger was really something.

They parted when they reached the entrance to the Great Hall for supper, promises made to look into their own textbooks overnight and to readdress the second challenge the next morning—Sunday.

As they began to separate, Cedric heard her sniffle. _Blast! A cold from staying out too long._

"Next time we study—if we go outside—you should wear warmer clothes! You're going to get sick if you don't eat something warm tonight."

Hermione turned and smiled sweetly. "Yes, yes, Cedric, I'll take care of myself. I told you—you only do the _minimal_ worrying."

"Ah, but you said I did the minimal worrying for myself. But it's you this matter concerns here. Therefore, you focus on what I say, and, as the proper friend does, I _do _get to do the worrying."

She scrunched her nose in mock irritation. "Oh, very well, Diggory. You can worry about my stuffed-up nose if you want to."

He leaned in, smiling. "Well, I do. So there."

She huffed, only half seriously. "Well, fine. I'll go eat soup like a good witch, then," she said, turning to walk to the Gryffindor table.

"Do that!" he called after her. "Oh, and there are still leaves in your hair!"

A few people turned to see what Cedric Diggory could be shouting about, though he was mostly ignored in the flurry of mealtime in the Great Hall. He still snickered when she blushed and rushed away, hands twitching but staying by her sides until she sat down. Immediately, her fingers found her hair. Not immediately did they find the few leaves left, however.

Cedric began his way toward his own house table, yellow-tied, smiling people calling after him to sit down. He passed by Cho Chang and her friend, Mary something, as they were getting up to leave.

"Hello, Cedric," she half-sang. Every sentence she spoke was just a bit musical, her inflections always rising and falling just within a single word. It was interesting to listen to her talk, though one time he had the misfortune of deeply discussing professional Quidditch teams, resulting in him verbally sparring with an opponent whose voice in diplomatic passion was just a bit too intense to feel comfortable with—she sounded much more incensed than the topic of sport allowed, in his opinion. Or she could've just overreacted. Still, they were good friends—even if she was a Tornadoes fan with deep convictions.

"Hello Cho. Hello." He nodded at Cho's friend, unsure of her name so unwilling to botch it.

"Marietta," she offered, and Cedric mentally prided himself in being close.

"Marietta, right." He nodded and offered his hand. After the short greeting, the three of them silenced, though Cedric could feel his stomach turning in hunger.

Awkwardly, he said, "Well, I'm going to sit down to eat now. Hope you two had lovely meals. I might see you later."

He began to edge around when Cho began to say goodbye. She stopped, though, and spoke as though she had just remembered something. "Oh, Cedric! My mother sent me those Chinese dragon sticks that you liked so much. I don't have any right now, but try to catch up with me later, and I'll give you some."

Oh, he loved exotic candies. The _cherry_ dragon sticks were his favorite: sticky, sweet, and the taste clung to his tongue for hours, just a bit of spice infiltrating his mouth. His teeth always felt a bit thicker with sugar afterwards, but he just couldn't help himself most of the time.

"Sounds great, Cho! But I think I have to eat a real meal first. Catch up with you some time, then."

She nodded, smiling, and departed with Marietta. When he finally sat down, Will and Rob turned to him expectantly. Addernine was sitting across from them, but Ben was far off, down the table with his (rather demanding) girlfriend, Fey, and her group of friends.

"Well?" Rob asked when Cedric did nothing but fill his plate.

"No. No, we're not going through this again."

Yes, he certainly liked Cho. But like that? No. They knew this, yet they continued to—pun unintended—_badger_ him about it for some time now, insisting that he was dull to not try and take the pretty Chinese thing out on a date.

"Just one Hogsmeade trip, mate. That's all you'd have to do. And if it doesn't work out, well—"

"It's not like we're telling you to snog her or be her boyfriend or something. Just a date, and you might be seeing things a bit more clearly." So both Rob and Will would harass him before he even got to his roast, would they?

"Oh, let the man eat, would ya? He's got plenty of options just now."

Not exactly what he wanted them talking about, but at least it would be a bit different.

"Oh, shut up, Addie! It was just last week that you were going on about how you were certain _she _was gonna ask _him_."

Ugh. He tired of this already, and it hadn't been even five minutes.

"Listen," he said, inordinately displeased with his first word of choice as it was exactly what he told Hermione they _wouldn't_ do when he needed them most. They were his greatest, closest friends, but... "I don't _want_ to get involved with Cho. Or anyone for that matter. I need..."

_**This year must be free of **__**distractions**__**, Cedric.**_

Tom's words flashed behind his eyes. He could almost hear Tom whispering in his ear about the follies of _dating_ during the tournament.

Shaking his head, he repeated, "I cannot _afford_ to become enamored. This year must be free of distractions."It was odd how... detached and not himself he felt when he made those statements.

There was a bit of silence at his strangely serious words about a subject the group tended to only jest about when at their worst.

To break the silence, Will offered, "Oh, so you'd become _enamored_ with her. So _that's_ why you're too pansy to date her."

They laughed, the jovial atmosphere returning. Cedric shook his head with a smile he didn't feel covering up an irritation that he very well could, growing stronger and blacker, oh so slowly, every day.

The only time the irritation seemed to go away lately was when he had just been out of doors with Hermione, laughing and being cold in the North English fall. Or when he was with Tom. His friends, the ones he normally relied on for everything turning about in his head, only added to his aggravation, fueled this internal compression of _bad_ that he never even knew he had so much so that his chest felt expanded but his insides still tight. He just wasn't... _comfortable_ being anymore. Or rather, he was wondering just _how_ comfortable he had been before this tournament mess. He'd never had so much support yet feel so outcast before. A lot of the time now, he _wanted _to be alone, with Tom and the diary translating thoughts between them. Tom was sometimes so hard to speak with... but when he was the _only one _he felt he _could_ speak with, really open up and pour out _his soul_,what was Cedric to do?

But he stilled smiled, unsmiling, for his friends. Making them happy. And feeling, while not absolutely miserable, just so damned _distant_ that he didn't know what he could do to be himself again.

He finished his supper, half-listening to them talk, to him and around him, feeling just a bit ashamed about how much he resented being there with his closest friends who didn't even know. It was shocking how quickly his light-heartedness had escaped him in just the few meters from the hall's entrance to his spot at the table. He looked over his shoulder, contemplating his short travel and wondering if he'd see a happier Cedric standing by the doors and laughing. Hopefully, this "other Cedric" would beckon him over and they could be one.

Not so. He sighed. "Hey—I'm going back to the dorms. I think I'm going up early tonight. Gonna work on some... tournament stuff."

They all smiled and wished him luck. He felt a bit guilty about their support, but then noticed that none of them offered to help in any way. So he didn't feel _too_ guilty.

He did retire early. And when his fellow sixth-years came up to sleep, his curtains were drawn and his books haphazardly tossed across his desk. If anyone had looked inside the yellow draping, however, they would have seen a black leather diary tucked under a sleep-heavy arm. It was open, pressed directly over a supine young man's heart.

Cedric's brow furrowed in dream.

* * *

**_A.N. _**_So, a new term (my first, actually) of college is underway. I decided to just go ahead and write last night, and this is what poured out. Updates are certainly going to be unpredictable, I fear... Hopefully not so irregular that it scares people off, but... And I've debated on what my updates were going to approximately run, too. I've tried for each part to be over 3,500 words, but I feel that I'm writing... a lot... for not so much. This story will__ end up being novel-length, I'm certain of it (I'm almost half-way there, and nothing's really happened yet), but I don't know if the updates will be as long as they've been in the past. _

___Admittedly, I also see reviews as fuel, and for 20,000 words to garner six of them?... Yeah, it doesn't do a whole lot for my writing mojo. I appreciate every review I've gotten as each is kind-hearted, encouraging, and written with such detail and appreciation that I really feel that each is genuine. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me thus far, there is no way that I don't depend on you for the motivation to write... But could it hurt to receive a little more love? This may sound shitty, but I've seen crappier one-shots with tens more comments than The Artifice has attained. I'm not asking for world peace, people, just a little love for a college student who does this in her own free time. And, honestly? The reviews make me want to write. And the lack of them? Well, that doesn't..._

_So, from here on out, probably shorter updates (I say probably because it is quite easy for me to get carried away...) with (hopefully) a little more love in the reviews department. And, is it shitty if I'm half updating more but shorter chapters because that's what seems to get more attention?... Oh well. : )_

_Thanks much! REVIEW! I could do with a little more love. XD_


	4. Part 6

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary: **Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can _really_ help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

_It's quite interesting, Tom, to see how many trophies you have in the cabinet._

_**Dusting them for detention, are we Mr. Diggory?**_

_ No, no, I was just passing through. Actually, I was hiding away from a few of my... more avid supporters._

_**Oh, do tell.**_

_ Well, they've been following me for weeks, and while I very much appreciate their encouragement... I just want to be __left alone!_

_**There are worse things than followers, Cedric.**_

_ Followers? I'd rather have friends._

_**Hmm. I rather think that you enjoyed the attention in the past—did you not?**_

_ You know I was a pig-headed git, Tom. There's no need to remind me._

_**Ah, yes, well, you were running?...**_

_ Not __running__... just... avoiding._

_**And you got to the trophy room where you examined how wonderful I am.**_

_ Yes, of course. That was the first thing I thought when I saw that you received an Award for Special Services to the school... and that you received the Medal of Magical Merit. They haven't handed out that award for... well, since 1944._

_**It is pleasant to hear that my record still stands.**_

_ Were you ever __not__ brilliant? Is there a memory in your past where you __didn't__ know everything?_

_**I'm sure there is. Let me think about it.**_

_ ...Really, Tom, you must learn to appreciate jokes._

_**Cedric, weren't you asking to see another memory?**_

_ Thinking of my last experience... I could probably go without. But thank you._

_**Hmm... I am unsure whether you are teasing me or not.**_

_ Assume away, I guess._

_**...Cedric?**_

_ Yes, Tom? This isn't going to be any questions about the tournament, is it? Because I've told you, I __am__ studying up on it with a friend, and—_

_**Are you still feeling... distressed?**_

_ ...Well, not __so__ much as of late. Though I am beginning to... hide away a bit more. Luckily, I have you to talk to._

_**As much as I love conversing with you, Diggory, I feel as if I have to encourage you to spend more time out of this dorm. You mustn't get consumed by anything too quickly. I'm afraid some of your stress is a little my fault.**_

_ Tom... this tournament is what's running me ragged. Not you._

_**I put too much strain on you sometimes, Cedric. I can admit that. But I'm afraid you need it—if in more varying amounts. It's only November. I can't have you losing your spark too soon.**_

_ Well... thank you, Tom. I really appreciate that._

_**You can always talk to me, Cedric. I'm not being malicious when I say... I have nothing to do, but listen.**_

_ I... know that. Believe me, I know that. I even try to take full advantage of it when you aren't scolding me for something._

_**Ha ha.**_

_ But, as long as you're asking... people are really starting to irritate me._

_**People? Your followers?**_

_ Yes, my "followers."_

_**Your friends?**_

_ ...Them too, yes..._

_**Well... it must at least be a little bit simpler getting rid of your cheering section, then.**_

_ Oh? And how would __you__ get rid of a pack of girls wearing "Cedric Diggory" pins?_

_**Oh how unfortunate for the poor lad Diggory, being followed around by **__**girls**__** of all things...**_

_ Not this again..._

_**Just shake them off. It can't be too difficult.**_

_ But they really __are__ being supportive. They keep congratulating me on being the champion. To ignore them would seem ungracious._

_**There are ways to be graciously dismissive. It would help, I'd say.**_

_ Graciously dismissive... It seems I'll have to work on that._

_**Do that, would you? You have bigger things to worry about.**_

_ You know, someone told me that the focusing is for the person... and the worrying is for the friends._

_**...Well... I suppose I'll say that I'm worrying for you then. But not **__**too**__** much. It may not seem like it all the time, Cedric, but I have great confidence in you.**_

_ Thanks, Tom. I should get to the library shortly, though. Study date._

_**Study **__**date**__**?**_

_ Act your age, Tom._

_**As you wish, Cedric.**_

* * *

"So... he's been watching again, has he?"

"_Wha—why _would you say that?"

Cedric raised his eyebrows at both her cheeks (the cheeks whose coloring matched her tie) and at her bitten-to-the-quick fingernails (still flecked with ink stains as they were). Her hair was a bit more haphazard than usual, as if she'd been tugging on it, and she was _certainly_ not in the most playful of moods.

So of course he had to tease her.

"That Bulgarian charm, Granger—it's gonna sweep you off your feet in no time!"

"_Would you be __**quiet**__, Cedric Diggory!_"

"They'll know all about your love soon enough, Hermione darling. It's only a matter of time. No point in covering it up from your _ever-listening_ peers."

There was no one in this particular corner of the library, so he wasn't too alarmed about others overhearing. He _was_ only teasing her—he didn't want any nasty rumors drifting about. Not against her. She was too sweet.

And too predictable.

Squealing in frustration, she stood up and began to tie her hair back.

"What—what are you doing?"

He was half afraid that she was planning to jump on him out of anger.

"I'm doing the only thing that will keep you quiet for the next two or so hours."

He grinned, and, rakishly leaning his chin tilted in his palm, elbow on the table, waited for her. He crossed his left leg over his right just purely for show.

"Oh? And how might you do that?"

She finished, hair back and off her face in a rather thick pony—exposing quite lovely cheek bones, he thought—and pushed up the sleeves of her robes before she thought about it a bit and decided to take the robes off altogether. She settled in, opened her (quite heavy) book with a thud and whipped through the old pages to the beginning of the index.

"_We_ are going to study _every_ animal language known to wizarding kind until this library closes and Madame Pince _drags_ us out."

Cedric found that his smile didn't last too long.

In fact, it was Hermione that was grinning as she sent him to go and fetch another reference—"It says _here_, Cedric, that we _must_ use Englebert's texts as a cross-reference if we use Blight's _Linguistics of Foul Creatures_... No, don't whine, _go!_"—though her smile didn't last long either, and she was back to her regular slouch and pursed lips even before he lost sight of her, her face terribly close to the print as she just... _absorbed_.

He may have looked back a moment too long, because he collided head-long with a startled Marietta Edgecomb coming around the corner of the potions section, a stack of books once in her arms now spilled on to the floor.

Cedric hurriedly piled them back together, and they both settled the books back into her grip.

"I'm—I'm _so_ sorry, Cedric—"

"No, no it was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you alright?" He felt distracted and just wanted to get away—he _needed_ to start paying attention to where he was going...

"Fine, I'm fine. Thank you... for the books, and things."

"Yes... Well, I—"

"Do you have a date for the Yule Ball yet?"

He stopped. She was looking up at him, face tilted coyly with eyes just twinkling from under her—elongated through magic, he guessed—eyelashes. The books were tucked to her chest, one foot was toeing the other, a finger wrapped around a strand of hair, and she looked altogether... _persuasive_.

Cedric didn't want to be persuaded by her. Not. At. All.

"Uh..."

He was rather good at expressing himself, was he not?

"Because... I was thinking..."

"Um, no, no I haven't got a date yet. And you're a very nice girl, but I don't feel as if we—"

"Oh, I'm not asking for me." She was grinning at him—well, more like smirking.

Cedric must have misheard. "Oh?"

"Well, it's just that... you're single, and Cho was talking..."

He didn't like where this was going.

"She was saying how you were the only decent single bloke she knows, and how she thought it might be nice to... spend an evening with a friend instead of a date..."

"Oh?" This "oh" was delivered a bit more happily, as he didn't _dislike_ what he was hearing... Though his mates would _definitely_ give him grief about it if he actually took her...

"Yes. I believe she said... 'Stag, but together,' or something like that." She shrugged, trying to look a little carelessly helpless. Very off-the-cuff. Casual. Not like she had any vested interest in it or anything. Or that she might be just a little nosy.

"Oh." He nodded.

"So... you should talk to her." Should he, then? "Oh, but don't tell her I said anything. She wanted to be the one to approach you, but she didn't want to make it awkward."

"Uh... awkward? How so?"

"Well, she figured that any attempt to ask you out would be misconstrued as 'romantic' or something. She was actually rather hoping that you'd just ask her."

"Huh. Well, I don't really know yet... so maybe you don't tell Cho anything either?"

Marietta finally had a lapse of confidence long enough to look confused.

"But—_why?_"

"Well, it's just that—"

"Are you _planning_ on asking someone else?"

She wasn't even the girl of hypothetical choice, and she still had the audacity to look affronted.

"I don't know that yet," Cedric said, trying not to let any of his irritation soak through to his words. She was meddling, but she didn't deserve to be told off or anything like that. Maybe Cho should just sit down with her and discuss boundaries...

"Like I said, I don't know who I'm going with. I haven't really put a lot of thought into it. As a matter of fact, it doesn't really even feel like a priority right now."

"Not a priority? But you're the _Champion_. The ball is for _you_!"

"That... may be, but I haven't really thought about it too much, okay? I'm sorry for not being able to give an answer to you—I mean, to _Cho—_right now, but... I promise I'll consider it. For now."

She peered up at him, almost disbelievingly. "You _are_ going to try and ask someone else, aren't you?"

He closed his eyes tiredly. Then, he put on a smile. "I _really_ don't know. So, I'm keeping my options open right now. If you'll excuse me, I was already supposed to have returned with a particular book by now. Have a nice afternoon."

He was only a few paces away when Hermione called after him from down the aisle. "Cedric! Did you see Winona Furth's _Spoken Tongues _next to the others? Blight also recommended that we—"

She immediately cut off when she saw how blatantly Marietta was staring at her. The three of them awkwardly stood between the stacks, as if waiting to see who would move first. Hermione shifted nervously and beseeched him with her eyes to just... _do something!_ What, he didn't know, but... Marietta didn't take her eyes off of Hermione.

"Uh," Cedric started. "I actually haven't gotten back that far yet, Hermione. There was an accident here, and then we started to talk, so... Lost track of time, I guess."

She was puzzled—probably more by Marietta's unblinking gaze than by his response, he thought—before she brushed past the both of them. Frowning, she turned her head over her shoulder to mutter something about getting the books herself and being back soon. Only when she was out of sight did Marietta finally say something.

"I... have to go now. Um... have fun _studying,_ I guess..."

"Yeah... you too. I'm just going to..." he pointed after Hermione.

Marietta nodded, this time a bit cautiously, and stared after him a bit as they parted ways. He hated how damned _suspicious_ she looked—as if there was something to really _see_ or some such thing.

Frowning to himself, he headed after the sweet Gryffindor, who, in the time that he had been giving his farewells to that nosy Ravenclaw, had taken it upon herself to be accosted by Viktor Krum once more.

Well, not accosted, but... She wasn't _quite _leaning against the bookshelf, arms full of leather and parchment... And he wasn't _quite_ resting his hand above her head, leaning in... But Cedric still didn't like it.

Krum just looked too damned close to thirty for him to be giving such attention to that little, blushing lioness.

And, of course, she was biting her lip. Her brow was a bit heavy with apprehension, though... Which gave him _a little_ hope...

"Hermione!" He heard himself call out to her before he really even decided to do it.

Krum was actually then one to turn his head quickest to Cedric. His heavy woolen and fur robes made him look just so _bulky_ that he was out of place next to Hermione's slim, girlish figure. She was clutching her books quite tightly and began walking his way almost immediately. She didn't look relieved, per se... But she certainly didn't dawdle on over...

"Um..." she turned to Viktor just as she reached Cedric. "I—have a nice afternoon, Viktor."

"You too, Hermy-own. And Digg-ry."

Cedric nodded.

He wasn't sure whether or not Viktor stared after them as they left. When they finally sat down at their study table, they avoided each other's eyes. It was puzzling as to why he felt so embarrassed... but he did. Feel embarrassed, that is. And he didn't know if it was because of Marietta's interference or his own between Hermione and Viktor that made him self-conscious.

But she seemed a little embarrassed too, he thought—though he couldn't see her very well with her hiding behind her crazy hair and his obvious reluctance to shoot anything more than dodgy looks over at her. They both settled into reading, but the atmosphere was so tense that Cedric couldn't really focus on anything but wondering whether or not she was angry with him for calling her away from Krum.

They were a few minutes in before a little mouse-voice—quite strange to hear from the mouth of a lion—asked him, "Did I interrupt you and Marietta earlier? I'm sorry."

Cedric blinked. "What? Marietta? No, she was just being nosy—"

"I'm sorry if you wanted to spend some more time—"

"No, if you wanted to talk to Viktor more, I could've—"

"Did she tell you about Cho?"

Cedric really blinked. "How—how could you have _possibly_ known that?"

Hermione blushed and half-shrugged. "Well... it's kind of... _known_ that Cho thinks you two would make a good couple."

Cedric stared while Hermione just got more embarrassed.

"And, well... there's a lot of people who would agree with her. Like, her friends... and people in Hufflepuff... and your friends?... and maybe—"

"Do you think so?" he interrupted, point-blank.

She hesitated in question. "What?"

"I'm asking if _you_ think Cho and I would make a good couple."

He didn't know why he felt and sounded so _irritated_ again. It was rather disappointing to feel this way as his _un_-irritatedness was normally found when _with _Hermione.

"Well... I guess I don't know. I'm just _saying_ that—"

"You're saying what?"

"I'm saying that _other people_ might think so, but—"

"But what, Hermione?"

"But I don't really know her or the situation—"

"And that won't stop you from speculating, then?"

"Would you _stop_ being so nasty?"

Cedric was shocked out of his bad attitude and immediately felt guilty. "I—I'm sorry." Hermione looked carefully at him over their busy desk. She closed the book in front of her, calmly so that he knew she wasn't dismissing him. In fact, she shut the book and looked straight at him, not trapping him but just waiting. Waiting like she always did for him to just... fess up.

Closing that book was by far the nicest thing Hermione—anybody—had done for him to show him that she cared.

"I don't know why I'm so defensive lately."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not... really, no." Cedric felt like he should hide.

He could see that she was trying to keep her eyes wide with sincerity, her face as open as it could be. "But... I said I _do_ think it would be good if you were talking to someone—"

"I am," he interrupted again. He wasn't lying, not really.

He briefly thought of the diary hidden in his bed frame.

She looked so relieved. "Oh, _good_. So your friends are finally clued in to your... predicament?"

"Uh..." He should lie to her. "Well, not really."

She stared in confusion, and he knew she wanted him to elaborate.

Would it be subertfuge to distract her? He _really_ shouldn't let himself go on about his true anxiety—or the way he had been mollifying it in secret. Instead, he chose to address just the tiniest, nasty portion on his heavy plate of irritation to... throw her off, yes...

"Yes, that's probably why I was so upset with you about the... Cho thing. It's just one of those things that they do that really bothers me—talk about Cho, I mean. It's like... they don't _want_ to see that I don't _like_ her like that. They just come up with these excuses to talk about her, and, with the ball coming up, the _last_ thing I need is for _Marietta Edgecomb—_" Yes, he did spit out the name. "—to try and weasel her way into my social life and get the gossip hounds and my mates—who are _very much _the worser of the two, thank you—talking _again_ with new ammunition." While he spoke this last bit, he brokenly recalled Marietta's outrage at seeing him with Hermione. He definitely didn't need the guilt over rumors started for that particular interaction.

"Why don't you just tell them that you don't like it when they talk about Cho?"

"You think I haven't _tried that_!"

Instead of becoming meek, she glared at him until he mumbled an apology.

"Well... all that aside... wait, was Marietta telling you to take Cho to the Yule Ball?"

Cedric sighed. "Yes. Got rather upset when I told her I'd have to think about it instead of outright agreeing."

Hermione giggled, which made Cedric smile. Just a little bit. She covered her smiling mouth shyly, a little flustered, and he started laughing too.

"I don't know why it's so funny," she whispered, leaning in. "But I wish I could've seen her _face_. Such disapproval, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I swear she was gonna stamp her foot or something."

"Having a tantrum, and it's not even like you were turning _her_ down!"

"_Right!_"

Hermione's eyes grew bigger, and she shushed him. He still chuckled while she checked to make sure Madame Pince didn't come around the corner to rebuke them after his outburst. "Cedric, _quiet!_"

"Bossing me around again, are you Granger?"

"Shut _up!_"

He laughed louder.

Madame Pince didn't ever end up scowling at them from behind a corner of the library shelves, but, still, his good humor petered out and was replaced by the usual silence encompassing their study table. He didn't feel like concentrating quite yet, though.

"Hermione... I tried to say this earlier, but I'm sorry for taking you away from Viktor. It looked like you were having a rather, eh, important conversation, and—"

"Oh, no! He was just... well..."

"Yes?"

"I... well, it's rather presumptuous to say..."

Cedric didn't think anything would seem presumptuous with the way Viktor had been looking at her.

"I think he was going to ask me to the ball?"

It was a frightened little question, but Hermione looked straight at him—almost wanting for guidance, it seemed—and was terribly difficult to turn away from.

Cedric hesitated. "And... why do you think that?"

"Well..." she looked down at her hands that smoothed over the books in front of her, flat and fingers spread. "I... he's been staring a lot... I think. More than is reasonable, at least."

"Hmm. Did he say anything, then?"

"No. Just, 'I haf to talk vith you, Hermy-Own,'" she mimicked (rather poorly, so it made him smile).

"Do you... want him to ask you?"

She blinked, seemingly shocked at his—he thought—rather predictable question.

"Well—_I_ don't know!"

He grinned. "Well just who is supposed to, then? Certainly not me."

She frowned at him. "Ask me, you mean? To the ball?"

He shook his head, confused. "No, I meant, _who_ is supposed to know? 'Cause I wouldn't. And you said, '_I_ don't know' like someone else would... know, I mean."

Back-peddling was difficult when he thought he had offended someone.

"I mean I'm not saying that I wouldn't ask you—" he went on.

"You would?" _This_ question was definitely shocked.

"Well." He shifted and wished she would give him some room to breathe with that disbelieving stare of hers. "Well, you're a friend. A good one. A nice, pretty girl."

She turned rosy at the same moment that her eyes melted larger in happy mortification.

"I mean," he continued, "we'd have a good time. Right?"

She nodded. Cedric thought she might be holding her breath.

"Yeah. Going to the ball together... well, it wouldn't be a trial or anything, huh?"

She shrugged. "I—suppose not."

"No, no it wouldn't. Maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Well... it's just a thought. You wouldn't have to agree."

"Cedric, what?"

He really grinned now, happy with his proposal. "Well, I think we should... reserve each other. Like, if neither of us finds suitable dates in the next month... we go together."

She blinked. "But... don't you plan on asking someone?"

"Who?"

"Well, Cho?"

He scowled.

She tried to defend herself. "Well, just ignore all of the stuff with your friends. I mean... I at least think she might ask you."

He studied his knees for a moment. "I... I would turn her down." He nodded at his realization, feeling more and more confident with it as he spoke it aloud.

"Really? But what if she asked you just as friends?"

"Cho is that—a friend. Our relationship shouldn't—_won't_ be determined by a ball. Be determined by anybody. Not by me, not by my mates, _or_ her."

"How would that be any different than me going with you?"

He examined her, finding that she was genuinely puzzled.

"Well... there's no... pressure. I mean, _obviously_ we would go as friends. And have fun _as friends_. We don't have any history, real or imagined, beyond this study table—though it is quite a nice study table, isn't it?"

They both knew he wasn't referring to the table.

She smiled, a bit less apprehensive now. "So it would be like a normal date. And when it ended, we'd be back here the next day making sure you don't get yourself killed in the line of wizarding duty." Well. She was also feeling rather witty.

"Exactly." His smile felt wider than normal. "If anything, we're just doing each other—and, admittedly, ourselves—a favor by doing this."

She arched a skeptical brow. "How so?"

"Well, Hermione," Cedric started, ridiculously suave, "friends don't let friends go to balls with less-than-savory partners."

"Less-than-savory?" she scoffed. " I refuse to believe that I would accept an invitation from—or address one to—someone who is not, at least, decent."

He swayed from side to side in his seat, teasing. "Quite high-headed, aren't we Granger?"

She glared. He didn't know how much of her expression was presented in jest. "Offers from everywhere yet no one meets your standards, Diggory?"

Ouch.

"Point conceded—please don't hex me."

* * *

**_A.N. _**_I am such a nice person. This is the second update of September. NUMERO DOS! I repeat: THERE HAVE BEEN TWO UPDATES THIS MONTH._

_Isn't that just **great?**_

_Anyway, I'll let it be known that I definitely appreciated the attention this fic has been getting (though it still isn't **exactly** getting the same amount of love in the magical review box-a'hem...). It's so great to look at my traffic ratings and see that people are still reading The Artifice two weeks well after it was last updated. That may not mean much to a lot of you, but those numbers really say a lot to me._

_Also, for the reviews I did receive last cycle around, the prize must most definitely be handed over to **FlickTheRubber** for her/his((?)-I don't want to assume) astoundingly awesome and supportive feedback. I hope that even those I don't hear from are at least as excited about this story as my awesomest reviewer for Part V seems to be. Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews. I'll be getting back to you shortly, I promise!_

_The point of this Author's Note wasn't to guilt people into reviewing (well, not mostly for this reason...), but to express my excitement on a semi-tolerable update return time. I hope, with a dash of sunshine, optimism, and skies clear of writer's block, that I'll be able to continue turning out this story... Perhaps at an even faster pace?..._

_I know, right? You've heard it all before. I'd like to think I'm not lying..._

_But...  
_

**_Christian Coulson is a real wizard. And he also happens to be my Tom Riddle._**

**_He'll totally possess you if you don't review this update._**

**_Or maybe you'd prefer it if he did... : )_**


	5. Part 7

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary: **Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can _really_ help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

Cedric was trying not to become too captivated by the scar—he really was. But he hadn't _really_ ever spent any time with the Potter boy before. Sure, they had spoken as Quidditch competitors—even as TriWizard competitors—but never had they actually sat through a conversation (if you could refer to their brief mumblings as such) that wasn't based upon some game or other. It wasn't as if they were mates. It wasn't as if they had anything in common besides sport and limelight (well, limelight as of _now_, that is).

The long and short of it was that Cedric really wasn't used to being in the presence of "_The_-Boy-Who-Lived." But, judging by Potter's wide green eyes and hesitating side-step-shuffle and shifting weight and constant little glances at Cedric in between pleading expressions targeted toward the beautifully maned lioness in front of them, Cedric thought that the boy might have been feeling just a bit out of place too.

"Did you both bring the eggs?"

Cedric and Harry glanced at each other uneasily, shrugging the golden trophies of the last challenge forward for Hermione to approve.

"Well, bring them here, would you!"

Harry moved first, even before she issued the command fully. It was obvious that Potter trusted Hermione—or at least that he wanted to get all of this over with as soon as possible.

Cedric was a bit more halting in coming forward. His hands on the egg were clammy, and the gold metal sides were slipping between his fingers with each bouncing step. The egg wasn't heavy, no. But... Cedric was in a bit of a dilemma.

He didn't think he was "consorting," or anything so ridiculously divisive—he and Harry went to the same school, after all. It was a priority for the both of them to get a Hogwarts TriWizard win. But this little meeting seemed to tread awful carelessly along the lines of cheating. A moral Cedric was a happy one, and this charade of gray area was most unsettling for him. He didn't think Harry would be a cheat—and after declaring his trust of Harry to Tom, he would feel guilty to doubt the boy so soon.

And it would be downright ridiculous to question Hermione at this juncture, half because he thought she would hex him if he backed out now.

"What, um... What are we planning on doing here?"

"I've already _told_ you, Cedric. Weren't you listening?"

"Well, yes, but, you didn't explain exactly what we were—"

"Ugh! I _did so_ tell you that we will be listening to both of the eggs this afternoon—though this would really be a far more effective method if we had Fleur and Viktor participating too."

Cedric looked to the side, wondering what Harry thought of all of this. The boy's crazy hair shifted as he shook his head subtly at Cedric, warning him of something.

"Well, _why_?"

Harry grimaced. Cedric watched in fascination as the lightning bolt on his forehead crinkled in like an accordion.

Admittedly, he was only half-listening when Hermione began her tirade of sorts.

"To see if they _differ_ any, of course."

In all, it was a short tirade.

But it still caught Cedric's attention. "What makes you think that they _would_ differ any?"

Hermione balked at the question. "There's nothing that indicates that they are different in any way. _But_," she cut off Cedric's protest, "that does not translate into a firm belief that all of the messages are the same. We've spent so much time identifying the language that we haven't even _begun_ to focus on the content."

That's because they had only been _trying_ to identify the language—they weren't any closer to an answer now than they had been two weeks ago.

Cedric was about to complain, and he knew Hermione was anticipating it. Her shoulders were square, her chin stubbornly up. Maybe it was because he had been spending so much time with her or because she was just such an honest soul... but he could still see the saddening amount of defeat she was hiding. Maybe not defeat, but desperation.

And then it was that he knew she wasn't trying to be unfair—that she would be downright offended if he even suggested a hint of foul play. They _weren't_ any closer, and it was wearing on her. She was doing all she could, testing everything she could think of no matter how absurd. And while she still had plenty of time to figure things out—for _them_ to finally solve this new riddle—she was getting _so_ terribly worried. He knew how she had been with the dragons, could only imagine what it would have been like trying to keep her calm and comforted in the stands as she watched her best friend be attacked by one of the most deadly beasts out there in the wizarding world. He knew she was just being Hermione when she dragged both he and Harry up to the second floor bathroom carrying those blasted eggs. The second floor _girls'_ bathroom, to be precise. And although Moaning Myrtle wasn't around to drone on about something yet... that didn't mean she wouldn't be soon...

"Shall we just start?" Harry suggested. Cedric thought he too might be nervous about a certain dead and bespectacled admirer judging by the way he kept glancing toward the stall doors.

"Yes, of course, Harry. I just hope you both know that early this morning I asked for a bit of privacy this afternoon. _She_ promised that she wouldn't bother us."

"But that just means she's hiding and waiting for us to reveal something!" he exclaimed.

Cedric almost dropped his egg to cover his ears when he heard an otherworldly shriek of rage and indignation—coming from the stalls and not the gold thing in his hands. Briefly, he wondered if perhaps Myrtle hadn't been enlisted to provide their second task messages. He cheekily thought of asking her to translate—until he remembered how terribly... _terrible_ she was.

A blur of blue and white flew over one of the closed stall doors and right in front of Harry's face. Cedric was mildly amused at the amount of exasperation that was playing across Hermione's expression that he almost wanted to watch her rather than witness the furious ghost lay one into Harry.

Almost.

The boy was just too shocked looking for the spectacle to _not_ be the most entertaining thing in the room.

"_How dare you speak so meanly, Harry Potter!_" Myrtle fumed in her high, whining voice. "_You _have proved to me how_ horrible you are, _you know. I thought that you _were so nice, but __**NO**__. Everyone _just_ loves to pick on Myrtle, says_ things about poor Myrtle_, mean, mean things. No one _is_ ever __**really**__ nice _to _**Stupid, Irritating Myrtle!**_"

Cedric was inclined to agree.

Neither he nor Hermione interrupted her anger, letting her whine and squawk and berate Harry until she finally squealed one last time before diving straight into the toilet bowl of her favorite stall.

Harry was still beet red, and his eyes looked more green than usual just because of how wide he had them opened—the size of Butterbeer bottle caps, Cedric thought—behind his already round glasses. Still, he wasn't shocked enough not to say, "Well, I _knew_ she was listening in on us."

Cedric wanted to laugh but couldn't find the humor to do so under Hermione's glare.

"Are we quite ready?" she snapped, hands on her hips. Cedric quickly placed his egg on the table next to Harry's. After a moment of examination, Hermione invited them both forward with a roll of something sticky and white. He noticed that the thing already had his and Harry's names next to each other. He watched in frank curiosity as she quickly peeled and ripped the stuff like paper, two little sheets of it with the two names.

"What's that for?" he asked.

Hermione looked up at him in confusion. "Well, they're tags. For your eggs?"

She handed the tag with Harry's name on it to the boy and reached for Cedric's egg herself, smoothing the strip on the shiny gold surface before letting it go to settle back into place.

And the strip _stayed on!_

Cedric was boggled. "You did that without magic?"

Harry smiled in understanding, but Hermione was just perplexed, staring at him like he was the biggest git.

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's tape. Muggle thing. It's got adhesive on one side. But I guess there's some tape with adhesive on both sides—uh, double-sided and all..."

"But it looks like paper!"

"That's because it's _masking_ tape, Cedric," Hermione told him. Quite snottily, actually.

He became a little embarrassed since this knowledge was _just so obvious_ to Harry and Hermione. He had the sudden need to defend himself to keep from looking completely stupid. "It's just, I always thought that tape was clear. And I didn't know you could _write_ on it."

He didn't really know how to face Hermione, knowing how moronic she had made him feel in that moment. He didn't know if she felt bad or not—or even noticed how silly he felt—because it was Harry that ended up saving him.

"Yeah, wait until I show you the thing you _use_ to write on that. So much easier than quills, I think."

"Is it like a pen?" Cedric asked, half because he was very interested and half because he wanted to assert that he did have _some_ knowledge over the Muggle world to Hermione. To both Harry and Hermione.

"Um, kind of. It's a little different. Thicker, and with a felt tip."

"Yeah, the ink looks... different," Cedric said, leaning in close to the _masking tape_ on his egg. Without turning back to Harry, he asked, "What's felt?"

"Oh, well, it's like a type of fabric—"

"Boys! We're not here to talk about Sharpies." Hermione finally interrupted.

Cedric flinched, but Harry started laughing. Not at her _or_ him, it seemed, just at the situation.

Harry looked up at Cedric. "I'll get a Sharpie from Dean tomorrow to show you. He's Muggleborn, and he draws with them sometimes."

It would have been the perfect way to become friends, Cedric was sure, but then he remembered the obviously Gryffindor-created drawings depicting yours-truly rather compromisingly and put two and two together.

Hermione must have arrived at the same conclusion, because she quickly started giving orders to the both of them on how to hold their eggs properly and where to stand and what to listen for...

And it didn't work. Or rather, it worked in that they temporarily lost their hearing because he egg really did echo off of the high stone walls with little to no tapestry or carpeting quite vigorously, ricocheting the wails back to their eardrums at a volume or frequency Cedric didn't think possible to sit through without bleeding. But it worked, and yet, for all their pain, they didn't learn a single damned thing. The eggs' meaning or message remained just as unknown as before.

One thing they now knew, though: Cedric and Harry had _exactly_ the same message. The shrieking was quite distinct, you know, and, strangely, a bit repetitious. Hermione suggested a song, perhaps, or a poem, and Cedric agreed, recognizing the rhythm when he heard it. Harry was a bit of a downer when he pointed out that, song, poem, or not, they still had no clue what it was saying.

As the three of them had cleared out of the bathroom, Hermione had lagged behind a bit, taking copious amounts of time to collect her books and other materials. She kept twitching her face, completely hidden by her hair (purposefully?) at Cedric. He was closest to the door, holding it open for quite a while as Harry began to dawdle too, eyes round with concern this time, lighting bolt folded again in a bit of sadness.

Harry nodded at Cedric to leave the room. It was the universal male way of saying, "She doesn't want you to see her cry."

Cedric tried not to feel a little hurt when the door closed after him just as Harry was wrapping his arms around a shoulders-shaking beautiful girl who just felt so defeated.

* * *

Harry ended up showing Cedric five different Sharpies the next day. He stood waiting outside the Great Hall before dinner with a hand full of them, and, though Cedric's friends were shocked when he broke away to talk to_ Potter_ of all people, Cedric thought it was worth it. He was even allowed to use the black one—because it turns out that they came in _different colors!—_to write "**HUFFLEPUFF RULES**" on the back of his left hand.

He was on cloud nine the rest of the day, running off the giddiness of his new thrilling discovery and grinning so handsomely that he received four dance invitations from rather pretty partners in just one hour. When he shrugged down into his seat at he and Hermione's study table—they had finally gotten the sense to just reserve it for themselves so they could keep their texts there overnight, at least for the most part since Madame Pince had taken to clearing the table on more than one afternoon when she thought their stacks too high—he was still smiling (only a _bit_ guilty at having gently turned down a sweet, blonde, and rather brave fifth year just a few minutes prior). But then Cedric almost frowned at how Hermione disappeared across from him once he settled in. It was like sitting in a romantic restaurant with entirely too big a bouquet on the tablecloth between them, so he started shifting the heavy tomes to the edges of the desk. This way, it now seemed to be more of a little fort of books that the two of them were hiding in, trading secrets, knowledge, and jokes, and it was, dare he say it, quite cozy that way. Though he was puzzled as to how the stacks _grew_ so high when it was always Hermione shouldering a satchel of books they hadn't gotten to in their time studying before they parted ways. It was a miracle that she left any books on the table at all.

Hermione looked up at Cedric's new "walls" rather critically (they were almost too close to the edges, though he was certain he could reassure her that they wouldn't fall), but he just beamed at her. When she kept staring in suspicion did he finally, _quite_ nonchalantly begin swiping his hands over the texts in front of him, pulling out his own notes and things, setting up his ink well rather meticulously, turning pages so carefully, pushing up his sleeves to rest his chin in his _left_ hand, of course...

Obviously, she had noticed his message that he had gotten numerous compliments for over the course of the day, especially from his housemates. Now _everyone_ in Hufflepuff wanted a Sharpie. Some of the Muggleborns just rolled their eyes in amusement, but a lot of his other fellow native wizards were shocked by how nice the inking was. He felt better when he realized how many other people hadn't heard of a Sharpie before either.

Right then, though, he just grinned rather goofily while she pretended to not want to laugh. Finally she had to cover her mouth to keep quiet—though he thought that was maybe a little bit caused by the funny faces he was making at her and the way he kept stroking the back of his hand with the feather of his quill. He wished she wouldn't cover her cute little pink and white smile, though—it was always so pretty.

"Jealous, Granger?"

Taking her hands from her lips, she jokingly frowned at him. "Yes, Diggory, I just wish that, despite my already obvious loyalty to Gryffindor as seen in my robes, my tie, and, I suppose, my hair—"

Cedric spit laughter that he hoped wasn't inappropriate. Luckily, the lioness just _giggled_ at him, completely without self-consciousness, at least this once.

"Really, Cedric, do I need it _branded_ on me too?"

"See, thing is, Hermione, it's not permanent. Not a brand, just another sign of my house support."

"You'd just _love_ the water tattoos then, wouldn't you?"

"_Water_ tattoos? How do you tattoo with water? I thought Muggles had to use needles—"

"Well, now I know what to get you for Christmas, then." She then smiled so coyly at him that he didn't know what to do. Other than become a complete oaf, it seemed.

"Oh, yeah. Christmas."

She blinked, quickly sobering when she realized his newest thoughts. "Yes. It's... past the first week of December now."

"Right. Finals are next week."

"Right."

"So you're still... free?"

"Ah, yes. And you?..."

"I—yes."

* * *

_**You aren't seriously asking **__**me**__**, are you?**_

_Tom, I could really do with some advice here. It's... troubling._

_**Well, if it's troubling...**_

_Tom, __please__._

_**So, what, this oriental dame's all fur coat and no knickers?**_

_Tom! Do you have to talk about people like that?_

_**Oh, not this again, Cedric...**_

_It's rude. It's mean, and it inspires hatred. Sometimes you're just so..._

_**Old-fashioned? Is that what you were about to say?**_

_Shut it, Tom._

_**For me to shut it, it would be **__**you**__** that does the shutting.**_

_Tom, be serious... and don't talk about people like that, please. It really bothers me._

_**Cedric, she's wasting your time. Actually, you're wasting your time on her. You say you don't want her but you don't know how to say no? Just say it and be done with it!**_

_You don't understand. She's my __friend__, first and foremost._

_**Of course. **__**Everyone**__** is your friend first and foremost, Cedric.**_

_What's that supposed to—_

_**Stop worrying about other people! Don't you think you have enough to worry about on your own?**_

_Well—_

_**Oh, yes, yes, I know—"Friends doing the worrying" and all those special things. Sounds like something a dame would say.**_

_Well, Hermione is a girl._

_**...**_

_Tom?_

_**Hermione Granger?**_

_Yes. You remember the name from when we first met?_

_**Hmm... thought it was familiar. Didn't say you were spending time with her...**_

_Actually, she's been helping me study—for both the next task and for my classes._

_**Is she?**_

_Yes. Just yesterday she had Harry and I working to—_

_**Harry? **__**Potter?**__** She's a friend of Harry's and you're letting her see your research on the **__**egg**__**!**_

_Tom, it's not like that._

_**Don't tell me what it's not like, Cedric. How could you be so stupid?**_

_She's not using me! If you would just listen—_

_**What is the point of helping you if you're just going to throw it away? You might as well just drop out now and let the Potter boy and his manipulative girlfriend take everything. After all, it seems like you're just offering it freely.**_

_Tom, just stop it! __Stop it!_

_**Tell me, have you gotten the Bulgarian and Veela in on it too? Just giving **__**everything**__** away—**_

_Their names are Viktor and Fleur. Stop referring to them as if they don't matter. And just __STOP!_

Cedric's writing almost tore through the page.

_**...Cedric... you'd better have a good explanation.**_

And he did. And he wrote and wrote and wrote to Tom, telling him all that he had been afraid to tell him before, afraid to tell him because he _knew_ Tom would react this way. Tom would barely let him get a word in edgewise, and Cedric had worried that, if Tom got upset enough, he would just stop responding altogether. And Cedric needed Tom, so much...

And when Cedric finished his story did he write, _Tom. You make it so difficult to talk to you sometimes. Lately, I've been depending on you so much, talking to you about everything that's been bothering me. But I've kept Hermione out of it because I __knew__ that you would completely write her off, write __me__ off, wouldn't trust anybody to be on our side. But you have to realize that, with Hermione, there __is__ no side._

_**There's always a side, Cedric. It's just a matter of seeing it.**_

_No, I understand that. But Hermione just wants to help. All she ever wants to do is help. And she's done so much for me, been there for me like you've been this last month. She keeps me from going mad sometimes, like you do. And she's so smart—it's a __miracle__ that she and I have an agreement to study. You'd like her, Tom. She's so studious and snooty. You two would get along perfectly._

_**Cedric...**_

_Oh, it was a joke, Tom!_

_**No, not that. Cedric... do you **__**like**__** this girl?**_

_What? Hermione?_

_**You obviously like her enough to defend her against me. More than defend her. I'm assuming she's who you go to for your study dates?**_

_Well, yes. But she and I are friends._

_**Mhmm.**_

_...Tom, are you __really__ going to start this?_

_**I'm starting nothing. It's just... so interesting. I'm going to have to think over this. Change some plans... Make a new fail-safe.**_

_Tom, I __told__ you that we can trust her. Please, please... just take my word for it?_

_**Oh, I'll take you at your word, Cedric. Though I must remind you, I think, that this journal remains between you and I **__**only**__**.**_

_Tom, it's not as if I'm going to just show her. Although a talking journal would probably intrigue her quite a bit—_

_**Even when you fall in love with the girl, I don't want you telling her of us.**_

_..._

_**...**_

_What?_

_**I'm sure you don't want **__**me**__** to explain the concept of love to you, Cedric.**_

_I... I don't __love__ her. We're just friends, for goodness sake._

_**Yes, and I'm the long lost descendant of Godric Gryffindor. Hear me roar.**_

* * *

_**A.N. **A little over a month for the next return. Eh, it's been worse. However, I can picture a few grumpy people griping about how this part didn't really do much. I know a lot of people who would come out with the word "FILLER" and use it as a label for **Part VII**. But, really, weren't you all excited about Harry? He's finally in this story! Innit great? You're gonna be seeing a whole lot more new faces if you keep up with this shenanigan!  
_

_Anywho, I just thought that I might put this sucker up tonight and see what people thought. Thank you again for the lovely reviews, all (three of you). : ) I'm actually really-super-excited about the fact that, since I updated last, this story has not gone **ONE DAY WITHOUT A READER! **Which is so AWESOME! I'm not a widely read author by any means, but that really tickles me pink. I hope that people keep reading__—_**ESPECIALLY KEEP**** REVIEWING**___—until next time._

_And I think that... **next time**... might just be a treat for some who were disgruntled by the lack of action in this last chapter... Hmm... I wonder what comes at the end of December at Hogwarts that would be pertinent to this retelling of Goblet of Fire...?_

_Hmmm..._

_Oh, I know!_

_Answer: TOM RIDDLE'S BIRTHDAY! MUAHAHAHA!_

_...  
_

_No, really, it'll be awesome._

_And, again, comrades... _

**_Christian Coulson is a real wizard. And he also happens to be my Tom Riddle._**

**_He'll totally possess you if you don't review this update._**

**_Or maybe you'd prefer it if he did... : )_**


	6. Part 8

**Title: **The Artifice

**Author: **join_the_conga

**Rating: **teen friendly (adult language and themes, but no nastiness)

**Characters: **Cedric Diggory*, Tom Riddle Jr., Hermione Granger

(* denotes main character; story revolves mostly around him)

**Summary: **Cedric Diggory wants nothing other than to survive through the tournament that he can take lightly no more. Unexpected second parties agree with his goal and begin to help him in his plight. However… just who is it that can _really_ help him? The faceless benefactor who has taught him the importance of a ruse… or the girl whose hair is as unmanageable as her worry? Who can Cedric depend on when he doesn't think he can depend on himself? Throw in a bit of romance, drama, and a mysterious diary and you've got the makings for an exceptional sixth year at Hogwarts for this Hufflepuff.

* * *

_ So... do you think I chose right?_

_**I don't know. Do **__**you**__** think you did?**_

_I'm quite confident, yes._

_**Well, then I hope your evening is sweetly pleasant, your date too pretty, and your dancing skills at their highest.**_

_Is that an order not to step on her feet?_

_**You won't get to sample any womanly wiles if she's griping about her toes, Cedric.**_

_Speaking from experience, Tom?_

_**Not my own experiences, no. As it happens, I was quite popular with the ladies myself.**_

_So arrogant._

_**It's not arrogance that had me petted and preened on many occasions, I can assure you.**_

_..._

_**Yes, Cedric, it's a euphemism.**_

_Tom!_

_**Oh, go let loose for once this year. I'll be here when you get back.**_

_I'll "let loose" enough for both of us. But as I told you, my date is a __friendly__, intelligent, snooty and rather pretty girl who is also my __friend__. I cannot stress enough that she is my __friend__. So I'm sure we'll have an excellent, __friendly__ night together._

_**Do have some friendly fun under the mistletoe for me, Cedric.**_

* * *

Of course it was mistletoe he thought of when he watched her descend the steps in her blue dress that showed him her dainty collarbones and slender neck, both of which were, for the first time, uncovered to his eyes by a surprisingly sleek updo. And then he really had _no _idea of where to look when looking at her, didn't know if he could bear it all—all of Hermione—and still not have one single _friendly_ thought. But that wasn't the first thing to so utterly strike him that evening.

Earlier, Cedric had been mulling about in the great hall, eating quite a late brunch due to one part exhaustion and two parts laziness (yes, he was in Hufflepuff, and if anyone objected to his, quite frankly, _lack of motivation_ to do much of anything at 10:30 in the morning on Christmas Friday—well, he didn't know what he would do, since it couldn't be nasty with the spirit of the holiday and all...) when, instead of an owl or some other delivery device, Hermione Granger herself plopped down at the Hufflepuff table right next to him with a small bundle in her arms that she then set next to his plate.

Now, it wasn't _un_common for people to sit with tables of other houses—especially not during the holidays or in the near-afternoon in which no one was really _in _the great hall, or, if they were, they were merely grazing—but he couldn't help but feel inordinately happy about her presence there. It proved to him that their friendship existed outside of the library and their research, something that had been tickling the back of his mind in insecurity. He felt especially happy when she reached forward and started making her own rather simple plate of fruit and muffins.

"Sorry about bothering you during eating, Cedirc," she said rather quietly, smiling to herself as she began buttering one of her selected biscuits. "It's just that I haven't really eaten this morning yet, either, and..."

"I would love to eat some late breakfast with you, Hermione." She smiled at him before going back to her bread. "Did you stay up late last night?"

She giggled, and it surprised him. "Something like that. Couldn't really sleep for a long time."

"Looking forward to Christmas morning presents, I suppose?"

"Hmm. Something like that." She smiled secretively as she munched contently on a piece of melon.

They both took a minute or two to let each other eat, and he watched her as she was gathering her guts to interrupt him again.

"Speaking of presents..." she said (quite deliberately). Hermione nudged the bundle a bit to the center of the table, making it the focus between them now.

He grinned—who didn't love presents?—and pushed his nearly clean dishes forward with one hand, snatching up the brightly wrapped bun_dles—_plural, because she was too sweet—with a disproportionate (he thought later) amount of excitement than the situation called for.

She watched—he saw that she was quite nervous—as he broke open the paper around his gifts. Though she had _no_ reason to be nervous, because her gifts were _wonderful_!

"These are..."

"Sharpies, yes. I just—" she blushed, pushing her hair behind her ear and only sometimes meeting Cedric's eyes. "I know that you really liked them before." She gestured to his hand in amusement, and he laughed a little too. "And... And, Cedric, I'm sorry if I made you feel... silly, or anything, about muggle things."

Cedric was a little uncomfortable, not wanting her to feel bad for just reacting as normally for her. "No, it's alright."

"No, Cedric, it's not. Especially when _Harry,_ of all people, is the one telling me about feelings and how I didn't really think of yours. I'm sorry."

Now he was really uncomfortable, and he didn't know whether to feel grateful or a little angrily disturbed that Harry would talk about him and _feelings_ with Hermione without really any warning or anything. Cedric just ascribed his ambivalence toward the situation to his (admittedly sometimes stupid) male insecurities that were, in certain places in his head, obstinately preying on his sanity. Though he was quite certain girls had a rather fantastic set of them all to their own, too. Not that he would ever _tell_ a girl that...

Cedric gestured to his new, _colorful_ "Permanent Markers" with a smile and said, "Believe me. Apology is _definitely_ accepted.

Her nose scrunched up jokingly when she scolded him, "Oh, so I only have to give you pretty gifts to have you forgive me, huh?"

"Well, you _did_ give me so many good presents. What's a guy supposed to think?"

"You haven't even _opened_ any of the others yet, Cedric!" she snipped, now suddenly quite snobby (maybe part impatience and a little bit of anxiety tugging its way through?).

He did as she asked—ordered—and found himself with some new, thicker paper ("For using the markers on."), some pencils and regular fountain pens, two green notebooks held together with little twirls of wire (he was quite happy when he saw that he was basically able to write on any surface now), _crayons_ (the concept of which hadn't quite stuck yet, and he noticed that Hermione was grinning a bit mischievously when she mentioned "coloring books" that she could allow him to "practice on"), and, of course, a book on shielding through, _yes_, transfigurations ("It's actually fascinating! I hope you don't mind that I peaked, but Puderbagh talked all about which substances can block certain spells, which reflect them, which _refract_ them—it's all so much like muggle science, with studies on lasers and earthquake waves and things like that—and, oh, Cedric! He also talks about how to, of course, transfigure these substances to—").

He was grinning like a fool even when the presents ran out. And then, because she was Hermione, they didn't.

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a small stack of little papers wrapped in plastic. He was immediately intrigued by all of the colors and shapes.

"These are those things I was telling you about. Temporary water tattoos." He started laughing at all of the pictures. There was one whole sheet dedicated to woodland animals, and he couldn't _imagine_ ever really _wearing_ any of them—well, maybe the moose, for laughs.

Her cheeks were almost as pink as her lips when he finally tore his eyes away from the tiny papers.

"They—I know they're childish..."

"Are those ones _dinosaurs?_"

"Yes," she snapped defensively. "These tattoos are tended more for children, anyway. Teenagers tend to henna where adults either choose not to get any or they get the real thing. You won't find a lot of _mature_ water tattoos, but... I thought you might find them interesting."

"They're fun, Hermione. I'm glad that you wanted to share them with me." He smiled at her until she smiled back. "And what's henna?"

She blinked. "Oh, well, henna is... well, it's real ink that settles into your skin a bit. Like a tattoo, but without needles. It lasts a lot longer than a water or airbrush tattoo, but it isn't permanent."

"Oh."

As he kept flipping through the pages, examining the patterns—some were like barbed wire, others were all swirls, a lot of them had faces and animals and things about muggle sports—he finally thought to ask, "Well, how do you put them on?"

"Oh!" she gasped, touching her hand to her forehead in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Well, all you need it water and a rag. You should probably wash your hands first too, to get the oils off. And don't pick a place with too much hair, because sometimes the hair can mess up the pattern."

"Hmm..." Cedric examined his hands. "I don't know if I should put one on now, though, should I?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, the ball. I want to look nice for you for the ball."

"...look nice?"

"Yeah, I don't, uh... well, we'll be seen dancing together. Um, _very_ seen."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Professor Sprout told me the other day that the champions have some sort of... procession? And then they open up the dancing. So we'll be dancing together. And I don't want my hand to, um... Well, I just don't want to look like a goof, do I? I mean, goofs are fun sometimes, but it is a really formal event."

She was staring at him. "It's okay, Cedric. I'll show you how to put them on another time."

"I—thank you so much again. For everything. You've been... so important. Thank you."

Remarkably, she didn't get too pink at his words—though he could tell that she loved them.

"Thank you, too. But, if I might make a suggestion..."

"What?"

"Well, I think I know the perfect tattoo to try first."

"Oh?..."

She snagged the stack of plastic papers and scanned through them before slipping the woodland creature sheet out again. She tapped her finger against one of the corners, bringing his attention to a snarling face of a familiar black and white creature.

"Or maybe this one." She moved her finger a bit, and this badger was much more friendly, wide-eyed and scampering across the page.

"You—you got me a badger."

"Mhmm." She shrugged like it was nothing, but her shoulders curled forward in a bit of insecurity.

"That's—you're a wonderful, wonderful witch, Hermione."

* * *

"You're having rotten luck with that tie, aren't you Diggory?"

"You haven't even _bothered_ to shine your shoes, have you?"

"No one'll be looking at his _shoes_ with his _hair_ like that. Merlin, Diggory, are you even _trying_ to impress that little Gryffindor princess?"

"You'll be treating her like a princess tonight, won't you, Cedric?"

Ugh.

"Will—the damn tie won't lay straight. I swear that, after five times, I'm certain that it can't be my fault anymore. Ben—I'll just do a bit of a shining charm before going down, eh? Addernine—hair is—hair is difficult, okay? Just give me a moment. And Rob—god, Rob, just shut up!"

They were all fluttering about him, dancing the quickstep of hurried preparation with each of them dressed only partially, robe jackets missing here and there, shirts unbuttoned and ties not even glanced at yet. Ben was still in his skivvies which made it a bit awkward as he was bending down to fix Cedric's apparently non-satisfactory shoes.

"Honestly, gents, as comfortable in my masculinity as I am, I am a bit bothered by the fact that you're all prancing about like girls dolling me up for a dance."

Rounds of protest burst forth, Rob's ringing most clear when he said, "Oi, Ced, you're just feeling like a ninny 'cause you find us all rather fetching in only half of our formalwear, eh?"

They started laughing. Will interjected with, "Ben don't count as one of the lads, though. He's volunteering up his manhood yet again by doing the jobs near naked."

Ben blushed, only now realizing the awkwardness of his position, and sprung away from the ground—and sprung his brown-haired head away from Cedric's belt buckle in the process, most importantly. "Oh, shut it," he snapped (though with a grin).

Rob turned to one of the mirrors in the dormitory, slipping his tie around his neck and knotting it with ease—_bastard_. "Well, at least it's not Fey taking his manhood away this time. Bloody thing breathes fire, I swear."

Addernine choked back a laugh, but Will looked a bit uneasy when Ben started to protest—this time with much more irritation.

"You guys said you'd stop giving her a hard time!" he complained.

Rob finished with his tie, only now bothering to look Ben in the face. "We're not giving her a hard time. We're giving _you_ one."

"Yeah, for being such a complete wuss." And now Addernine was in on the insulting?

Will, ever the negotiator, interrupted. "Oi! Do we have to do this now? We've all agreed that she can be a handful, but it's not like Ben doesn't genuinely like her."

Ben stood his ground. "I _love_ her." Cedric had to stop a sigh when it began to come forward. He was all about supporting love—thought that they, this group of friends, were all getting old enough to start finding it pretty soon—but he wouldn't say that Ben felt love. Ben felt obligation, adoration, and an unhealthy amount of insecurity. If that was love, Cedric wanted no part in it, _especially_ when he thought his friend, in his relationship's own, twisted way, to be a victim of the slyest kind of abuse. Sure, he would always support his mate—his one mate that he had before even coming to Hogwarts as the two of them had grown up as just neighbors of each other in their warm, country homes—but he couldn't help but wish he'd leave his girlfriend. Actually, he wished that _she_ would at least dump the poor guy sooner rather than later and let the whole thing be done with. It seemed, though, that the cat's claws were just digging further in this year instead of retracting. As absent as Cedric had felt, it wasn't like he didn't notice Ben's sudden drop in social doings that didn't revolve around the red-headed minx with the cunning of a Slytherin all dressed in yellow robes.

"Ben," Cedric started, "I know you care about her—we all do—but maybe you should start putting your foot down sometimes. I mean, I know you had to go out and buy new robes for the dance."

"The ones I had before weren't good enough."

"They were just fine!" Rob exclaimed. "She made you get new robes—in _red_, for Merlin's sake—just because she wanted to wear a certain black _dress_ and felt that you and she couldn't look too much alike."

"It's—girls do that."

"She made you sell your mother's old jewelry to pay for them!"

Cedric wanted to leave, because he loved his friend, because he knew that Fey owned enough other dresses to pick from and chose not to, because he knew that the girl had pressured him, and pressured him, and, in the end, it had been _Ben's_ decision to sell his late-mother's things and no one else's. Cedric knew Rob was just angry and impatient with Ben's utter denial, but he also knew that yelling about it wouldn't solve anything. If Rob kept inadvertently pushing Ben away, Ben's parting with dear memories of his very missed mother would be the least of their worries in regard to Fey's manipulation.

"Gents! Can we just simmer down a second, alright?" Cedric called out.

Ben glared at Rob and stormed to his wardrobe to begin tugging on his expensive—and atrociously red—dress robes. Will fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, Addernine, looking to please Ben, quite loudly and obviously shot a shining spell at Cedric's shoed feet, and Rob just sighed at watching Ben's dressing progress. He finally looked away and pulled Cedric forward—rather abruptly—to finish fixing his tie.

Like the older brother with little patience but just the right amount of superior wisdom did he have the tie all straight and smiling in just one go. Again—_bastard._

Cedric leaned in to whisper, "Did you have to go and start that?"

Rob just tsked in disgust before turning back to the mirror to begin fixing his own brown hair. He had swiped a bit of gel from his father—muggle father, witch mother—and was assuredly experienced with it as his head soon sported an actual hair_style_, leaving Cedric envious once again.

"I just—can I borrow that?"

Rob glared at him, hazel eyes sharp, and delivered a skeptical stare. "You're completely hopeless, you know that? Everyone goes on and on about Golden Boy Diggory, but—"

"Little do they know," Addernine picked up, "good old Diggory can't do his own hair. Needs his mates to help get dressed up for a little dance."

"I don't remember _asking_ for your attention."

Will grinned, now fully dressed as mischievous as usual. "And yet we dote on you. As far as anyone else knows, we are your most loyal fanclub of all, isn't that right, Ced?"

"Oh, shut up."

"It's alright, Ced," Addernine began again. "We can't all have _shining, raven locks_."

Rob snickered. "Oh, is _that_ what Judith Herzle said last time you were with her?"

Addernine preened. "No. That's what good old Ruthie said the last time I was with her."

Will giggled. "Ruthie? Uh, Addie, you must be losing your touch, man."

"Hmm. Say what you want about her face, but Ruthie sure knows how to use her—"

"Aaaaaand I'm done with this conversation!" Cedric shouted. "I have a date to get to, a dance to perform, and a wonderful Christmas night to be had."

Will snatched him by the back of his robes just before Cedric reached the door. "Not with that hair you aren't, mate." Even Ben joined in the swarm of attackers that followed.

If anybody ever knew that, in preparing for the ball, four almost adult wizards had sat him down in a chair before a vanity armed with muggle gel and an unsympathetic determination to get his hair "just right," Cedric would die of mortification.

Though he was finished dressing first—and they each began to finish in their own time rather quickly after—each of his fellow Hufflepuffs decided to stay in the dorms until they were all ready to walk out together. Cedric thought that it might be because they each felt a bit silly walking around in dress robes, waiting for their dates to show up. Ben ended up ditching even before they left the common room, though, as he was called away upon sight by the aforementioned girlfriend in a slinky black dress almost too revealing for a Yule Ball to pass without scandal. Rob was irritated enough to frown, but he walked away easily enough when the group of them began rough-housing their way through the common room entrance.

As it turned out, all three of his other mates had made plans with girls from other houses too—actually, Addernine had managed to snag a pretty little "raven locked" Beauxbaton's girl. They had all been surprisingly supportive of his decision to take Hermione—relatively few cheap shots about not taking Cho Chang were exchanged—and it made Cedric feel even more guilty than ever when he realized how awfully he had been treating his friends, at least in his own head. He had taken this last week without classes to re-engage with his four closest mates, hoping to have a great winter holiday in which he could cheer up just in time to get serious about the upcoming second task. It had been nice, and, though Tom had been encouraging him to spend time outside of the diary, at least for the time being, he was shamefully shocked at how easy it was to just drop back into the regular flow of things. Maybe it was the fact that school dances tended to level the playing field for even the most privileged of students—it really was a free-for-all in regard to finding partners, Cedric had found—but the TriWizard tournament had found itself on the back of the broom for once this year, the primary focus now being the Yule Ball, and, with it, the complete normalcy of teenage hormones and insecurities coming into play in his every day at Hogwarts.

He found it quite nice to feel like an awkward teenager again. It was odd to still be able to feel seventeen after all he had learned that year, and he felt fortunate enough to feel so young, at least for one evening.

The four of them strolled through the corridors, up to the Great Hall entrance, listening with foolish grins to Addie as he went on and on about the fortunes of French tongues, and, gradually, they started splitting apart as partners were found or in the process of being looked for. Addie found his French girl straight off (they tended to gather in flocks, those Beauxbaton's ladies), and Will was quickly carted away by a seventh-year Ravenclaw, equally tall, gangly and bespectacled. Soon enough, it was only Rob and Cedric left in their Hufflepuff cete, and they were running out of things to talk about.

Cedric was worried that Rob would resort to talk of Quidditch before long, and so redoubled his efforts to peer over the heads of his fellow classmates in the search for Hermione Granger. He didn't think she'd be so difficult to find! He supposed that he should have asked to the color of her dress so he at least knew what to look for in that regard, but, obviously, he hadn't been thinking. It wasn't too late yet, and he trusted Hermione not to leave him to himself—though he always thought her to be the more-than-punctual type...

Rob, of course, noticed his distress. "Oh, Ced, your princess is coming, I'm sure."

"I know, I know, just... help me find her?"

"You didn't ask what color her dress was, did you?"

"Shut up."

"Did you bring the comb?"

Cedric blushed. "Yes, of _course_ I brought it." Rob had been the only one of his mates he trusted enough not to completely take the mickey out of him for purchasing a pretty gift for a pretty _friend_ girl, but that didn't mean he wanted to _talk_ about it with him. He had only wanted a little advice at the time, even though he ended up making the selection all on his own anyway. He patted his robe pocket and the delicate silver in it rather hesitantly.

"Uh... how certain can we be that she'll even be wearing her hair up?"

Rob looked at him like he was daft. "Really, Diggory? Hermione Granger go to a formal event and leave _her_ hair _down_?"

Well... yes, he supposed he'd have to concede that. He began looking around again.

"Whoa..."

Cedric turned to look at Rob who was very much entranced by something just beyond them, normally critical eyes wide with interest. "What?"

"Ced... how did you know?"

"What are you talking about?"

Rob finally met Cedric's eyes and began to smirk. "You dog! You lucky bastard!"

"Rob, really?" Cedric madly began to search about, though he still couldn't find the familiar face of his favorite Gryffindor.

Rob clapped his shoulder, gathering Cedric back albeit roughly, muttering, "The comb! Change some of the stones blue—quickly!"

"Wha—why?"

Rob smacked his chest. "Just _do it_, would you!"

Cedric fished in his pocket and handed the piece to Rob to hold while he whispered some quick incantations. Rob lifted it close to his face for study once he was done.

"It'll do, Ced. Rather good color guessing, actually." He delivered it back into Cedric's hand with a charming if not completely normal roguish grin. "Now, go get her, _champion_."

Cedric began to turn away, rolling his eyes.

"Well, ha ha, very funny—"

Cedric stopped.

_Mistletoe_.

There was nothing else to be said about it—Cedric was gobsmacked. Luckily, he had found Hermione before she had found him. It left him enough time to push Rob away when the git had pretended to wipe drool off of his chin as he stared just a bit too long.

She was in blue, and she was certainly beautiful. Not cute—beautiful. And her pink smile was a little white in wide pride and excitement when she finally found him. Rob clapped him on the shoulder and even waved to Hermione before walking away and disappearing into the ever-growing crowd. Cedric's knees finally found the will to bend when he realized how rude it would be to make her walk to him. He corrected himself, though, from darting over and instead chose to stride with purpose when he put thought into not looking like an excited moron in getting to her.

And then he decided, upon reaching the bottom of the steps, that he would allow her to descend alone, to completely own this moment of grace and womanhood that she never really had the opportunity for before now. It was wonderful to be at the receiving end of her smile, and the hesitation was only brief when she placed her hand in the crook of his proffered elbow. He quietly guided her to a clearing amidst the crowd and turned to face her.

"Hermione, you—I have something for you."

Her eyes widened in surprise and a bit of excitement, and he reached in his robe pocket. "Oh, you didn't have to! Thank you so much..."

He looked back up, hand clenched and comb mostly hidden as he shifted from foot to foot in nervousness. "You don't know how happy I am to see you with your hair up."

She smirked. "I hope that is going to serve as a segue and isn't just a dig at my hair."

Opening his hand, he joked, "Well, it wasn't just a non-sequitur."

She gasped and threw her fingers up in front of her mouth. She spoke, eyes wide, from behind her hands. "Oh, Cedric, that's beautiful! You—oh, goodness, it looks expensive. You _really_ shouldn't have—"

"Do you like it? That's what's most important."

She shook her head, looking strangely worried, hands still clasped around her mouth. "Listen, I know I gave you a lot of things this morning, but they are all very inexpensive, common muggle things. They aren't exotic or ornate or _silver—_"

"This has gemstones in it too."

"_Cedric!_"

"Oh, it's not as if I emptied my Gringotts account to buy it. It was something pretty, something I thought you might like—and, if it makes you feel better, it didn't cost as much as I'm guessing you think it did. I just... do you like it?"

"...It's gorgeous."

"And it'll look even better when you're wearing it."

Hermione play slapped his arm before gently snatching—as odd as that sounds—the silver comb from his palm (rather greedily, which was strange for her but made him grin). Smiling a bit too widely, she slipped it in. Cedric's eyes briefly caught on the few curls that she allowed to spin around her neck, hugging her collarbone, and he—Good God! He couldn't allow himself to look there!

"Does it look nice?" she asked him.

"Yes," he croaked out, blushing as he took her arm again and lead her to the front doors.

"Oi! Back straight, Diggory! That's a mighty pretty lass you've got on your arm!"

This time it was Hermione that blushed, but Cedric grinned, easily recognizing the voice.

"I thought I'd gotten rid of you, Rob—and quit hitting on my date!"

Rob smiled and crossed over to them through the steadily growing masses, a pretty blond thing bouncing behind in high spirits. Cedric knew that, if Rob thought it necessary to sit through something as stuffy as a Yule Ball, he would pick his partner for her ability to dance and stay happy all the night, at least to make himself more cheerful. He could already tell that the little smiler was the perfect choice.

Rob waved as he approached. "Hullo Hermione. That comb is mighty lovely, isn't it?"

Hermione touched the back of her hair. "Oh, yes!"

"Yeah, it took Diggory here quite a bit of shopping around before he finally chose that one. Put a good deal of thought into it and all. Even charmed the gems to match your dress."

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Oh?" She glanced at Cedric.

Cedric forced a chuckle. "Subtle as usual with your match-making, aren't you Rob?" Rob's dance partner giggled, but Rob just grinned back self-certainly.

"Hey! Now that I know you do, in fact, _have_ a type, I'm not gonna stop." Rob turned to Hermione. "Though I'm not sure how many smartest-witch-of-her-ages Gryffindors we're gonna find."

Hermione smiled, but it was anything but happy. _How awkward..._

"Rob," Cedric pleaded, "really?"

"Oh, I'm just kidding! You looked nervous about having to do the procession, so I thought I might come over here to cheer you two up."

"Procession?" Hermione asked, clearly only just remembering what Cedric had told her this afternoon. Cedric placed his hand on her back in comfort.

Rob nodded. "Yeah, haven't you heard? TriWizard participants go in after everyone is seated."

Professor McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"

Rob snapped his fingers. "There's your cue. Go and get 'em!" He leaned in and touched Hermione's arm briefly. "And I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I wasn't poking fun at you or your sub-par choice in dance partner." Cedric scoffed, but was happy that the comment drew a tentative grin from Hermione. "I just thought Diggory looked a little nervous and decided to intrude. Don't worry—I don't think I'll be doing it _too_ much tonight. Just make sure you make him have fun, yeah?" Hermione laughed and nodded: Rob had now fully redeemed himself of the uncertainty of before. "Good. I'm counting on you, Granger. Nothing but smiles all night from the both of you." He dramatically turned and tipped his elbow to a still giggling, bouncing blond. The two of them strolled away, Rob casting a "Ta!" over his shoulder.

"He's certainly an interesting person," Hermione murmured.

"One of my best friends—Merlin knows why." Cedric allowed a side-glance at Hermione. Like Rob, he offered his arm with a bit of flair. "Shall we?"

Hermione took it with a grin. "Of course."

This time when he lead her, he found himself feeling a bit proud. They received a lot of glances from Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts students alike, and, though some were jealous (actually, the disappointed looks of some of the blokes that looked after Hermione a bit too long disturbed Cedric more greatly than he was ready to admit), most were... well, if he wasn't so certain of how ridiculous it would be, he would maybe wonder if they were looking at the pair of them in awe. In fact, he felt a bit like one half of Hogwarts' new power couple—which was completely ridiculous, because it was he and Hermione!

Regardless, it was too sweet a victory when they finally reached the line of other champions. Harry stood, shifting nervously in what looked to be brand new dress robes quite similar to Cedric's. It appeared that he had taken one of the Patil twins, the Gryffindor one he guessed (rather guiltily, he always had quite the time of telling the two apart). The Patil girl was the first to notice Cedric's date.

She seemed to be in shock. "That isn't—"

Hermione stepped up next to him, beaming. "Hi, Harry! Hi, Parvati!"

Harry gawked. "Hermione! Why didn't you tell me you were going—"

"With Cedric?" she interrupted. She absentmindedly tucked a curl behind her ear. "I just didn't think it would be a good thing to spread around, not since we weren't sure until recently." She glanced up at Cedric out of the corner of her eye, but he could only grin back and shrug.

Parvati's eyes gleamed in excitement. "Oh! So you two are...?"

"Um. Friends. They're friends. Right?" Harry looked as though he would rather swallow another snitch than hear them answer.

Cedric nodded in tandem with Hermione. "Right. Friends."

Parvati's shoulders slumped in a bit of disappointment—or maybe suspicion. "Oh."

"Champions!" McGonagall called. They gathered in a sort of ridiculous huddle, each member of the TriWizard Tournament with their date all shoulder to shoulder. "Now listen," McGonagall said from the center of their pack, "I need you all to get in lines, girls on the left, boys on the right, and in the following order: Cedric Diggory and his partner... Miss Granger?" Hermione smiled uneasily at the surprise in her Head of House's voice, but McGonagall only paused a moment before continuing, a bit cheerier this time.

As the professor continued to list off the order, Cedric noticed that Viktor Krum had quite openly allowed for his surprise to be seen. Although it was rather odd to see the rogue's face with any sort of emotion at all, Cedric was a bit smug when he could almost measure the amount of Krum's irritation—but hopefully they wouldn't be sitting _too_ closely together during dinner. He did look a mite bit perturbed... Still, though, he hadn't looked at Cedric too balefully yet.

Cedric and Hermione started the procession once the doors to the Great Hall opened with Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies following them, then Viktor and his unknown date with Harry and Parvati bringing up the rear. Hermione's shy smile was still wide, and Cedric was happy to note that she didn't seem embarrassed by their mutual spot in the limelight as they made their way to the main table situated at the far end of the hall. It was odd, Cedric thought, pulling out Hermione's chair for her like a proper date should, yes, it was odd that all of his peers had been standing to receive him and his competitors, like they were royalty or something. Even odder was it that he had to sit apart from the seemingly lowly students to eat with the Headmasters (and mistresses) and the rest of the Ministry representatives on this raised platform that overlooked the hall. His and Hermione's seats were on just the right edge for their backs to be to the rest of the ball participants sitting in the lower, small tables, and it allowed for the back of his neck to prick in paranoia. He took a breath and checked on Hermione as she settled into her seat before taking his own and angling it slightly to face her better.

"This is so surreal, isn't it?" she asked, taking the words from his mouth.

"Yes," he whispered back, raising his eyebrows in a bit of astonished amusement.

They continued on with a bit of uncertain small-talk, picking up these strange little cards in front of them with a list of potential dinner courses written in the finest of gold-leaf calligraphy. It took Dumbledore ordering his meal for the rest of them to follow suit, and Hermione ended up selecting some chicken dish with a side salad while Cedric ordered the crab-stuffed filet mignon—he was a sucker for a good steak.

Throughout the meal, he managed to tease her about her impeccable table manners at least four times. She, in turn, teased him about his frequent uses of a cleaning charm that morning as he had kept spilling his breakfast just about everywhere in excitement over his gifts. They found themselves giggling more frequently than anyone else at the table, and Cedric found it only a little odd that Hermione lacked any attention for Harry when they were all at the banquet table together, the young champion seated just a few chairs down opposite their spot. In fact, Cedric noticed Harry's bored expression as he talked to one of the elder Weasleys, the last one to have gotten free from Hogwarts. Cedric smirked as Harry began to look irritated. Percy always was a prune. At least Cedric got to have a conversation partner all to himself—a rather fun one, he thought, watching as Hermione wrinkled her nose at his rigorous cutting of the steak that threatened to shift his entire plate off the table. He would defend himself as a fantastically clean eater, though, as he rarely had problems with guiding food to his mouth and to his mouth only—it was just the anticipation of food or other things that left his hands a little clumsy during the cutting, slicing, pouring, or mixing that got him in trouble. He scooped up a rather big bite and chewed exaggeratedly (though with mouth closed) for her benefit, and she swatted at him in faux shame. Picking out friends instead of just random girls for these ball things certainly seemed the best option.

Viktor Krum and his date, however, were at the other, rather extreme end of conversation—or the lack of it (Cedric couldn't help but notice this, of course, just like he couldn't feel just a little bit of satisfaction during moments in which he was positive that Krum was upset at his rather forced choice in dance partner). It only took one fed-up exclamation from the end of the table for Cedric to find the reason as to _why_ the two weren't talking:

"C'est une mauvaise excuse pour un repas!" Viktor's blond little chit muttered, mulishly pushing her food around her plate.

"Kakbo?" Viktor asked without thinking, eager to hear his pretty yet dead silent date for at least once during the evening. His date could only sigh.

Cedric wanted to laugh, and it was cruel, and he still wanted to laugh all the same. _Two_ language barriers? Honestly, it was so terribly funny that he snorted into his pumpkin juice goblet—but that rather hurt his throat and his nose, so he just let his eyes water in amusement instead and tried to keep a ridiculous smile off of his face. Of course, Hermione still noticed.

She glanced down the table both ways discreetly before turning to him. "What's so funny?" she whispered.

He laughed again, trying to keep his chuckles from becoming manic like they wanted to just high around in his chest. "Nothing," he gasped, wiping the corners of his eyes (really, it wouldn't be so funny, but it was _Viktor _and a Beauxbaton's student, so it was so much better!). "Nothing. I mean, I'll... I'll just tell you later." Later, Cedric would find out that Viktor's date was named Aimée Babineaux and didn't know her Bulgarian as well as she should have before accepting a date from the Quidditch rogue. Both of them had a difficult time speaking English, Aimée especially, and Viktor knew absolutely no French. As far as them actually getting around to asking each other to the ball and assenting in turn... well, Cedric wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that_... conversation! _

Hermione was suspicious, but she was quickly distracted by the sudden flurry of activity that signaled the beginning of the actual dance. Tom's words flashed through his mind about not stepping on her feet, but Cedric told himself that he most certainly wouldn't want to be sampling any of Hermione's "womanly wiles" anyway. Instead, they both flashed each other friendly smiles before stepping off to the sound of a traditional wizard waltz. It was still a bit odd, dancing with only three other couples as hundreds stood around, watching. It felt a bit like a competition that he was certain Fleur and Roger Davies were winning, mostly due to her, clearly practiced, added flourishes and dips. Roger was lucky to be quick enough on his feet to keep up. Cedric was guiltily relieved, though, to note that he and Hermione were not the worst dancers—not by a long shot, he noticed, watching Harry stumble from pattern to pattern just at least a half beat behind while Parvati, pink and angry, struggled to keep his posture up.

Cedric spent most of his time, though, watching Hermione's smile and talking quietly to her about how awkward it was to dance in front of all of the others—just to relieve some unspoken but ever-present tension. Their dances didn't end with the first, though. Dumbledore's joining signaled the "okay" for the rest of the schools to converge on the dancing floor. One song melted into another before most of the couples of the Great Hall had been coaxed into a traditional waltz or two.

And then... The Weird Sisters took the stage.

Cedric didn't want to admit it. But he was a huge, gloriously blatant fan. _Of course_ he was looking forward to dancing around (rather goofily) to them live!

Even if Hermione had wanted to sit down, grab a drink, or find some friends to chat with, she didn't have much of a choice when Cedric had her promising dance after dance with phrases such as, "Oh! I can't sit down to this song, can you?", "This one—this is my _favorite!_", or "Please, just one more dance? We _have_ to dance to this one."

So they danced themselves panting and just a bit sweaty, grinning madly the entire time. They weren't the only ones. The once formal ball-goers had degenerated into a pack of energy-frenzied teens with their need to groove to one of the most popular wizarding bands of all time. Hermione only barely teased him for knowing all the words, but he would mouth them to her in turn with a giddy smile, not confident enough to serenade anyone quite yet in this stage of life, not even with his high level of excitement.

They had been weaving all night in and out of the crowd to get fresh air on their skin before diving back into the chaos, and they had bumped into quite a few of his mates on the way—actually, he had tried to shield Hermione away from Addie and what he and his brunette had been getting up to on the dancefloor (a floor riddled with watching teachers, no less—he couldn't believe that Addie'd have the balls!)—and the pair had switched partners for portions of songs just for fun with his mates and their dates. Actually, he managed to dance about a song and a half with Rob's bouncy gal that really did have some good dancing skills, making him feel just a little awkward with his standard shuffle (he really didn't feel like pulling out any of his odder, less comfortable moves without knowing in which way she would laugh at him, good or bad, in her own superior talent). Hermione just let Rob laugh and spin her in different directions for about four minutes before Cedric finally stepped in to save her from making herself sick. She stumbled into him, and Rob laughed before dancing away with the bouncing blonde when Cedric realized he'd been duped. Because Hermione clung to him, arms wrapped around his back, side of her face pressed against his chest, and he could only hold her firmly in response until she gained her bearings. The song was still rushing with fast, wailing notes around them, but Cedric held still until, grinning, Hermione straightened.

"No more spinning, I think," she said.

"No?" Cedric asked, happy to find her still bright-eyed and not nauseous. "No spinning? None at all? You won't spin with me?"

"No, no, and no," she retorted primly, grabbing his arms to start a gradual sway toward the quick tempo.

"Not even a little?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and as the song faded out, the perfect one started up next.

Cedric could only grin as he took her hands.

Hermione glowered. "You look entirely too mischievous, Mr. Diggory."

"Oh really? I can't think of why."

"Oh _really—_"

She didn't have time to say much more, because he had them moving as soon as the first chorus hit. She squealed in surprise, because, yes, they were spinning.

It was that ridiculous move where you hold hands, lift them up, and duck under in the same direction, putting the participants back to back until they finished their circle and came back to face each other, all the while still clasping palms. The first time he saw her face, she was still shocked. The second, she was grinning. The third, she was laughing. And she kept laughing for the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth...

"I don't think this is how hippogriffs dance, Cedric!" she called out as they spun, rather quickly, in and out.

"You don't think so?" It was rather ridiculous for them to have a conversation like this, only facing each other a portion of the time, exerting themselves with the pace of the music.

She was a little breathless when she said, "Cedric! You're too tall for this move!"

As he actually rather agreed with her complaint—he kept having to bend back to accommodate her fully stretched arms, always so quickly that he thought he might lose his balance and embarrass them both—he pulled her back, face to face, so that they could prance about and laugh at each other. Halfway through the song, he grabbed her hand and flung her out—with some warning, so that she wouldn't fall—before reeling her back in with a spin which ended with her back to his chest, her arms crossed and his wrapped around her, both of them a little surprised at the ease and success of the move that he had started in jest (after all, it was the only other spin he could think of pulling off). He flicked her back out, and they giggled some more and twirled. Cedric boldly pushed her back out again, and this time she deliberately spun into his arms, always laughing. Wanting to surprise her, Cedric tightened his hold just above her waist and hoisted her up against his chest, leaning back so her feet would come up off the ground and kick about in the air.

Hermione was hysterical with laughter. "_Cedric! Cedric, no! Cedric, put me down! Cedric!_"

He started spinning, just to take it further, and, though she didn't squirm, she shook her head back and forth and kicked some more. "Cedric _Diggory!_" she scolded, but he knew she wasn't upset—after all, he could feel her giggles.

The song panned out while her feet were still in the air, so he slowly let her down, grasping her shoulders before pulling her back around, letting her regain her balance. She fell against his chest again, and he was on the verge of laughing at her when the first slow song of the night started weaving out of the Weird Sisters' strings, stunning them out of their school dance high.

It was unspoken and, yes, definitely awkward, their decision to hold one another through the music instead of retreating to the punch stand or a nearby table. They met eyes only briefly before Hermione began to straighten, and she came closer to place her head against his shoulder like a proper slow dance partner should. They could have been stiff, separated, and they could have danced while trying to look at anything but their dates, but they were apparently too exhausted to do so from their long night thus far. Cedric was even so exhausted that he found himself sweeping his hand up and down Hermione's spine before settling his left palm on her shoulder blade and his right in the middle of her back—and he did all of this without thinking a single thing of it, hugging her close and closing his eyes before gently resting his chin on the top of her head, careful not to mess up her obviously labored-over hair. Definitely exhausted, yes. When he cracked open his eyes, hesitating when one slow song became another and Hermione didn't begin to pull away, he saw the glitter of his comb in the back her hair. It made him smile just a little, and he closed his eyes again as she flexed her hands into his back to signal that she wanted to keep dancing. They swayed together like that for a total of three songs, and it occurred to Cedric that they might have swayed for longer had the introduction of the next set of fast-paced tunes not kicked up. And it definitely felt awkward when they didn't know how to transition back into their regular dancing of the evening, so they both left the floor together to mingle with Will and Ben and their dates, choosing to laugh and talk with the others instead of even hint at addressing whatever had happened out while they danced.

As their own interest in talk began to dwindle, the couples parted, one by one, to dance some more. Hermione and Cedric had apparently become able-bodied teenagers again, and they danced up another level of excitement, similar to their first, as if all they wanted was a night of fun. However, even when they'd gone to break away from the dancing before, they hadn't spent too much time at the refreshments table, so it wasn't long before Hermione pulled a stumbling, laughing Cedric out of the crowd of students out into the open, bordering the chairs and those few low-spirited attendees that chose to laze about in them instead of join in with the fun. Hermione was looking at these spectators, sadly finding Harry and Ron among them. Cedric, noticing her interest, volunteered his "excellent punch-fetching skills," and he made her twirl around his hand just once more before breaking away, always smiling.

When not even a full five minutes had passed since he went to gather the punch and he still couldn't find Hermione, he took both of their drinks over to the sullen duo on the sidelines of the action, hoping for answers. What he received was a little unexpected, particularly from the Weasley boy.

"Uh, hullo Harry. Ron. Do you happen to know where Hermione went off to?"

Harry looked up, mouthing half-words and generally looking stuck. His green eyes slid behind his glasses to a quite surly red-head with a (as Cedric thought) highly unfair glare.

"Why, _Diggory—_have you lost her?"

"Wha—" Cedric started, confused. Why such hostility? "I mean—I'd gone to fetch some punch, see. And I thought she'd want to talk to you—"

"What, thought that did you? Thought she might actually care to spend some time with some of her _friends_, huh?"

Cedric could have pushed it—he could've confronted the bratty boy and come up valiant when the Weasley would realize that he had absolutely nothing against Cedric except for some petty form of an immaturity that Cedric didn't care to put up with. Whether his anger came from jealousy or whatever, Ronald Weasley was not the focus of Cedric's problems at the moment.

Cedric turned to Harry. "Harry? Please. Where is she?"

Cedric _knew_ that Potter knew and felt that he might betray some type of rule of friendship would he divulge something in front of his tempertantrum-ed mate. "Uh, well. I mean, I _did_ see Hermione just a few minutes ago or so..."

"And where did she go?" Cedric asked, waiting.

Harry now turned to Ron, and the boy was stubbornly sticking his chin in the air—almost like an invitation for a hit, Cedric thought. Clearly, an altercation had taken place between the three of them before Cedric had arrived, an altercation that likely drove Hermione away in a fit—she was rather sensitive to things like that, disagreements between friends.

Ron wouldn't budge, so Harry looked back to Cedric a little helplessly. He shrugged one shoulder in answer. But then Cedric noticed Harry quite purposefully edging his eyes toward one of the main balconies at the back of the hall before looking back to Cedric to see if his hint had taken hold.

Cedric's shoulders sagged in relief, and he muttered, "Thanks, Harry. Do you think you could take these off my hands for me?"

A bewildered young wizard took the two goblets of punch, and Cedric left even before Weasley's scoff had fully registered in the back of his mind. Cedric had a ball date to find.

And when he found her, oh, the poor thing, he felt like marching straight back to Weasley to give the little git a talking to about how to treat both a lady and a dear friend. You certainly don't let _either_ of them cry by themselves in the winter out of doors!

"Hermione?" he murmured, and Hermione wiped furiously at her cheeks before turning around. She wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Oh, Cedric, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. I was just so hot inside—"

"So hot that you decided to go out and freeze with only a flimsy dress in a Scottish December?"

She blushed, even when her cheeks were already pink with dried tears. "No, I—I take it that you've talked to Harry or... or—"

"Or Ronald? Yes, I've just seen them both." She nodded, tense. "It was Harry that directed me outside. As it happens, _Ronald_ didn't seem to have much to say to me."

Hermione shook her head. "He has _nothing_ to be upset about. His resentment toward you—it's so unfair. I mean, he was spouting off about how I was betraying Harry for coming here with you! Who would even?..."

Cedric stepped closer, leaning his hip against the balcony railing that she had perched her elbows on, wallowing while overlooking the grounds decorated in Yule cheer all for the ball that they were currently ignoring out in the cold.

Cedric sighed. "Do you really think that's all, Hermione?"

"What?" she sniffed, "that he's really just angry at me?"

"Well," Cedric started, slowly and carefully, "do you maybe think that he might just be angry at himself?"

"Well, I should hope so!" she snapped, straightening with arms crossed in frustration, still speaking out into the winter night. "He's so-so... stupid! So stubborn and quick-tempered. And all because he can't deal with the fact that I'm making new friends, friends that aren't he and Harry. And, yes, maybe I'd rather spend time with someone who likes to study and talk with me and things like that. I mean, it's not like I'm ditching Harry, right?"

This last question she addressed to Cedric, legitimately concerned at the moment. Cedric thought a lot of Weasley's upset wasn't really stemming from fear that she was betraying Harry. In fact, Cedric would be willing to bet that Weasley's new-found hostility for Cedric had absolutely_ nothing_ to do with Harry at all...

But he couldn't say any of that to Hermione, not when he wanted to reassure her and let her keep her wonderful Christmas night. So he sighed and smiled and said, "Of course not, Hermione. C'mere."

She let him wrap an arm around her shoulders, and they turned their backs to the grounds as they settled against the balcony ledge, looking in past the windows to the still thriving ball inside.

"I'm not even sad, not really. I'm so angry! This night was so wonderful before he... He just—he's ruined everything!"

Cedric stroked her shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort, and he let himself open up to her, little by little. "No he hasn't, Hermione. This night has been a blast, yeah?" He waited for her to nod before tucking her in a little closer to his side, cocking his head to joke, "And I haven't even stepped on your feet once." That drew a laugh, but it still sounded a bit watery, so Cedric continued. "I mean, slow number or fast, I haven't even come close, have I? I actually should be rather proud of myself. Makes me feel like I've won something."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, yes, well would you like a ribbon?"

"Nah. I was thinking more along the lines of a medallion or something."

She snorted again, and he held her until she drew up the courage to speak. "I don't want to go back in there."

"Yes you do," he countered.

"No, I _don't_," she snapped, pulling away to glare up at him. "You don't know how awful that was. And I certainly don't feel up to having a merry time while my friends stew over how selfish I apparently am. I _don't_ want back in."

"Yes, you _do_," he repeated. "I mean, you _do_ want to go back in—'cause we were having _fun_. _Without_ Ronald. And we can _still_ have fun, without him or anyone. Now, do you want to dance again?"

She hesitated, caught between feeling sorry for herself and realizing how Cedric was right about their night so far. "Well... I'm still thirsty..."

Cedric stepped away from the balcony, pausing to offer his elbow, yet again, to his favorite Gryffindor. "Then let's go. It can't be too long until the Weasley twins spike the punch."

Her reply was more reflective than he expected, and it worried him a bit. "I'd hate to grow a tail or something..."

And then Cedric paused before they crossed the threshold back inside. Hermione stopped after the tug on her arm, and she looked up curiously at him while he just grinned. "By the way, Hermione. I don't think I've told you tonight, but you look very beautiful. Thank you for coming with me as my date."

Surprisingly, Hermione's cheeks didn't turn too pink. Speaking of pink, she bit her lip before replying, "I... I want to thank you too, Cedric. You've been... just incredible. It was nice to spend a night together that had nothing to do with that bloody tournament."

"Well... when you think about it, this whole night has _everything_ to do with 'that bloody tournament.'"

"Cedric?"

"Yes Hermione?"

"Shut up. And I expect you to maintain your record with my unwounded feet for the rest of the night."

"Got it. Bossy."

* * *

Later as he had begun to take off his dress robes, Cedric recalled his parting from Hermione outside of the Gryffindor common room's painting. It was nearly quarter after midnight (the ball had ended at twelve, of course) when they finally got round to splitting away from each other. Cedric, of course, had decided to walk her back up to her rooms (even if his own were in the basement, which Hermione couldn't help pointing out at least, oh, what, fifty times on their late-night walk).

They were standing in the dimly lit corridor, and Cedric took one of her hands gently before beginning his words of appreciation.

"Hermione... I didn't ask you to the ball knowing how... _great _this night would be. But I'm still glad I did."

She was pink now, though he could barely tell in the semi-darkness of night-time Hogwarts. "You know, Cedric, I don't think I could have picked a better partner for tonight either. It was really... great."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Um... goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Cedric."

_**And so you snuck in a kiss then, did you?**_

And it was nearly two in the morning when Cedric found himself chatting with Tom. Cedric was in his bed now, pajamas on, teeth brushed, and eyelids drooping. But he thought that Tom might enjoy hearing some of the highlights of the night rather quickly before he fell asleep.

_No, Tom. Again, no. No snogging for me._

_**...**_

_Just... a rather nice hug at the end of the night. Hermione gives good hugs._

_**...**_

_Oh, what?_

_**You are in **__**so**__** over your head.**_

* * *

_**A.N. **So. MERRY CHRISTMAS! I was hoping to have this up sooner in December and all, but... oh well! : )_

_I hope everyone is enjoying their holidays, whatever they are. Mine happens to be Christmas, so that's what I will say to you, but realize that everything is said in holiday cheer! Gosh I love presents..._

_Anywho, I thought that people might like to read about the YULE BALL! on or before Christmas. So, basically, **today** was my deadline. I actually hope for the next one to be out on or before New Years' Eve, but who knows. If it is, I can basically promise you right now that **it will NOT BE 10,000 WORDS LIKE THIS MO-FO WAS!**_

_So, yes. That is all I have to say, I think. Hope the update didn't disappoint._

_**REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW**_

_And, again, comrades... _

**_Christian Coulson is a real wizard. And he also happens to be my Tom Riddle._**

**_He'll totally possess you if you don't review this update._**

**_Or maybe you'd prefer it if he did... ; )_**


End file.
